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Chapter Text

The week of Quatre's no-confidence vote at WEI, three notable things-- other than being voted out of his own company-- happened.

Rashid finally did as he'd been threatening to do for years, and went back to Earth. He was whistling as he boarded the shuttle. Quatre tried not to take it personally.

His niece also departed, leaving three weeks early for her graduate programme, and he tried not to take that personally, either. He wouldn't have looked forward to a month alone with a mopey, unemployed uncle. She left behind a suspiciously large pile of self-help books, with optimistic-sounding titles like The Six Pillars Of Self-Esteem and Staying Centred As Your World Turns Over. Quatre flushed one down the toilet and thought they might actually be helpful after all.

And all of his friends showed up, carting cases of liquor and a box of what he thought might be dirty magazines and something that looked awfully-- so very awfully-- like a karaoke machine. Quatre protested; he was sure he protested, between opening the door and pointing out the kitchen and finding an extension cable for the karaoke machine. And getting spare linens for the guest rooms and ringing Cook to put off luncheon and then realising that Cook was pretty much the only person who needed to know, anymore, what he was doing in the next few hours. And then he sat on the back stairs and put his hands in his hair and thought very hard about pulling it all out by the roots.

Maybe time to flush another book.

Trowa found him there, and eased down on the steps beside him. 'Sorry,' he opened.

'You're here to support me,' Quatre said, aiming for upbeat, and landing on toneless. He tried again, adding, 'Thank you,' and achieved something that only sounded mildly despairing.

'It was Duo's idea.' Trowa carefully folded his hands between his knees, his head bowed over them so that Quatre couldn't see his face. 'He said what you would need is a distraction.'

'I'm sure he's right.' He drew a deep breath. 'This isn't going to turn into one of those drunken lawn parties like Relena's last birthday?'

'Definitely not. I swear.'

 

**

 

For all his worry the first night was rather tame. There was an impromptu tour of the house; there was so much house that even Quatre rarely visited most of it, and most of it these days was gathering dust.

'Sell it,' Heero said.

'You can't sell it!' Duo disagreed, appalled at him. 'A place like this isn't real estate. It's history. Quatre's history. Isn't it, Quatre? I bet all kinds of crazy shit went on in here.'

'I did have an auntie who went off,' Quatre said, a little mystified. 'She lived in the Rose Suite for thirteen years and threw herself off the balcony. Only she didn't die from the fall, but finally had to go into hospital, with both her legs broken.'

'See?' Trowa said. 'History.'

'I thought you had servants.' Heero stopped just short of tripping on an old rug, staring down at it with a curious expression of reserve. Quatre stepped to him to smooth it flat with his shoe. Heero held his elbow for balance.

'There were people here when I visited.' Duo touched everything, curiosity to his fingertips. 'There was a butler and a bunch of maids and the footman and the wine guy and the porter and that guy who did my room and tried to steal my clothes.'

'For cleaning.' Quatre bent to collect a dust cloth when Duo threw it to the ground, the better to examine a marble bust of some long-dead Winner relative. It was a proud face, a stern face. His father's face. Quatre gazed up at it, twining the cotton sheeting over his knuckles. He took after his mother. If there were a bust of him to be done, ever, no-one would know where to fit him.

'Most of them moved on with the girls when they left,' he said eventually, 'now they've all moved out to their own places...' He turned, and found only Heero there waiting for him. Duo had already gone on to the next room, and Quatre could hear him exclaiming over the crystal chandelier.

'You live here alone now?' Heero asked solemnly.

'I suppose.' He gave the sheet a toss over the bust, and the square Winner jaw disappeared from view. 'Margaux left just three days ago. My niece by my sister Sabine.'

'Those are Sanqian names.'

'Yes.' He thought of Heero in that pale periwinkle suit in New Port City, the fall of chantilly lace at his throat that had strangled rather than softened. Those were sad days, and his memories of that time were all confused and unrelated to each other, snapshots of sleepless nights and a crawling sense of self-loathing. Not unfamiliar. He drew a deep breath. 'Relena and I are distant cousins, actually,' he said. 'Through our mothers. Her real mother. Third and twice removed.'

'I didn't know that.'

'Yes.'

He moved first, just as Heero inhaled. Heero was only half a step behind him, turning to follow Duo's voice through the formal dining room and to the conservatory beyond it. There was a little wake of change in Duo's path, the place settings on the table just a little disturbed. Quatre righted them absently, and thought it might be time to put it all away, with no-one left to eat off it. Maybe just settings enough for his friends, if they wanted it. He twitched a crystal wineglass into place, righted a candle that tilted off its base. Heero watched him. The table runner had shifted just off centre, and he righted that, too. And then there was a long blank space, no thoughts at all, no feelings, just looking down at the gold thread of the runner. He put his palm on it, spread his fingers wide. He moved it back off-kilter. Just a bit.

Heero said, 'We all brought you gifts.'

'Gifts?' He raised his head, put his hands in his pockets. 'Why?'

'Because of your company.' Heero's shoulder rose, an inch, fell back. 'Because of invading your home. Duo said you liked music. I brought you music.'

'I do like music, thank you.'

'Hey.'

Trowa. Quatre turned to him, and Heero stepped in to his back. Close enough that he felt Heero's body warmth. It raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

Trowa's mouth seemed tight. He said, 'Duo found the pool. He said we should get the liquor and start there.'

'It's not really a pool,' Quatre answered automatically. 'It's a fountain. Although the spigots are all off. I think Rashid said something about it before he left.'

'Whichever. Is it okay?'

'Is what okay?'

'The liquor,' Trowa repeated, with no edge at all. 'If we drink there.'

'Oh. Yes, of course.' He curled his hands into fists in his pockets. He could feel Heero at his back, and took strength from that. 'I'll go get the boxes.'

'We'll do it. Go hang out with Duo.'

'Take off your tie at least,' Duo greeted him, when he finally entered the conservatory. 'It's nice and warm in here. Are the colony's weather programmes broke?'

'It's always cold here. I think it's meant to discourage lay-abouts.' It was much warmer in the greenhouse, though. Tropical plants splayed wide green leaves far overhead, and a wall of orchids housed in tiny bulb-shaped glasses provided multi-coloured lights, oranges and blues and reds that dappled the surface of the-- yes, pool-sized fountain. Duo was already in it, his jeans rolled above his knees, his shirt wet to the elbows. Quatre got himself splashed when he ventured to the travertine ledge. 'Having fun?' he asked.

'We will.' Duo splashed him again, then threw his arms out rigidly. Quatre took a quick step toward him, but not in time to stop it. Duo fell straight back with a glorious eruption of water. Quatre laughed involuntarily, and pressed his hand to his mouth.

Duo surfaced with a gasp. 'Holy shit!' he crowed. 'Quatre, get in here. Now.'

'Are you mad?' He self-consciously lowered his voice. 'The others will be back in a minute. Get out.'

'Nuh-uh. You get in.' Duo swam toward him, approaching the edge with the gleaming eyes of a shark. 'You get in or I'm gonna make you.'

'You'll no such thing.'

'Don't make me chase you.' Duo splashed at him again. 'I will. I'll chase you through the whole house like this.'

'You wouldn't dare!'

With a great wave Duo flung himself up. Quatre dropped every last shred of dignity with a shriek, and took off running. Duo chased him with giant watery strides, then leapt the fountain ledge and came after him on foot. Quatre ducked under an elephant ear and behind a spindly-trunked fishtail palm, dusting his hair with a spray of grape-like fruits. Silence. He held his breath, listening for any telling drips coming near. 'Duo?' he whispered tentatively. 'Did you go?'

Fingers closed on his wrist. He yelped and remembered too late to twist away-- no avail. A wiry arm wrapped around his legs and then he was airborne, and then he was flung over a shoulder and carted briskly. 'Duo! Duo, put me down-- Duo, where's your braid?'

'On the same drooling idiot it's always been on.' Trowa hopped to the fountain's edge lightly enough for a man carrying an extra hundred and fifty pounds. 'Surrender or be damned.'

'Trowa, don't, I swear I'll--'

'That doesn't sound like surrender,' Trowa said, and heaved both of them in.

 

**

 

He woke well before his alarm. It was an old habit, a nervous habit of an active mind that always sought more worries than it already had. The alarm was a habit, too, and one he'd have to shake, now. There was no need to rise at four, no office to occupy at six.

He lay in bed staring at the ceiling until the alarm went off, and for a long minute after. Then he rolled to his feet, popped his aching joints, and went to shower.

Heero was sitting on the breakfast balcony. There was a pot of tea and a plate of croissants in front of him, which suggested Cook had already been in. Maybe he ought to move Cook onto the estate. He certainly had room now, and she was getting on in years. Or maybe he ought to let well enough alone. She had a family. She had a life.

'Here,' Heero murmured, and poured him a cup. 'Did you sleep?'

'A little, I think.' He dripped milk into the tea and pulled it near. 'You? Were you comfortable? I really should have aired out the rooms.'

'It was fine, Quatre.' Heero sipped his own tea. 'This place is too big for just you.'

'It is. I know.' He cradled the cup to his chest for warmth. Duo was right. It was cold on L4. 'I haven't-- had time to think about it.'

'Sorry.' Heero looked away. 'And I'm sorry about all of this. Us coming here.'

'No. I did enjoy myself last night.' He drank his tea, and set it down. 'If it were just me alone here I'd go mad. Lock myself in the Rose Suite.'

'You're not the kind of person who can party until he forgets his problems.'

'No, but it won't hurt me to try for a little while.'

'Quatre.' Heero faced him fully. 'If you want to talk--'

'Morning.' It was Trowa, standing at the doorway. He was wearing boxers and a long-sleeve jumper, and he was shivering. Quatre jumped to his feet and ducked back into hall. He pulled an armful of old wools from their hangers, and brought them out. Trowa gave him a small sleepy smile when Quatre covered his legs. Heero didn't meet his eyes, but accepted a coat silently.

'Tea?' Quatre asked.

'You don't have to hostess me.' Trowa poured for himself. 'Duo will be out soon. I think that's what he mumbled at me.'

'You all don't have to be up so early. You should sleep in.'

'There'll be time for that.' Trowa sipped gingerly, and reached for the sugar. 'Just to warn you. The drinking is definitely going to happen today. You might want to hydrate.'

He took that as fair warning, though. He poured a second cup of tea, and reached for a croissant as well. 'Should I put in a warning to the police to ignore any screams?'

'We'll keep it in house.' Trowa stole his croissant and tore it in half, returning one piece to him coyly. 'I meant to ask you last night. You said Rashid left?'

'Yes.' Quatre turned his eyes down to the biscuit as he shredded it slowly. 'The day after... after my last day at WEI. He said it was time and I was welcome to visit Earth at my convenience.'

'Harsh,' Trowa commented. 'I thought you two were close.'

'So did I.' Quatre sucked flakes from his finger and wiped his hand on the wool coat in his lap. 'I mean we are. I'm sure he had his reasons. At any rate, I suppose I do have time for a visit now.'

'Hey.' Duo had found them after all, and he was carrying a large stone vessel topped with a carved falcon head. 'Quatre, what's this?'

'Ah-- it's a canopic jar.' Quatre poured a new cup, and pushed it across the table as Duo sat, cradling the jar in his lap.

'Canopic means what, now?'

'They held viscera of ancient Egyptians.'

'Cool.' Duo turned it this way and that in the light, reaching for his tea with only half an eye on it. 'Viscera means what, now?'

'Body parts,' Trowa informed him. 'And I think the falcon means it was intestines.'

'Oh, very very cool.' Duo gave it an appreciative pat, and set it on the table. 'So. Here's my thinking. I talked to your kitchen lady last night and she said she was going to bring stuff for sandwiches and snacks and that kind of thing, and then she'll just take off and leave us to ourselves, so I'm thinking the first thing we do is throw on a big batch of bloody marys and start with the prank calls.' He mimed a phone at his ear. 'Hello? It's your stalker from high school. I'm still following you.'

Trowa had split another croissant, and Quatre took the half that was offered to him. 'To whom are we making prank calls?'

'Your company, duh. Trowa downloaded a list of all the assholes on the board and we can just go right down the list, man.'

'It sounds a little lame,' Quatre said apologetically. 'And they all have secretaries, anyway. It's not much of a prank if you have to tell them who you are to get the secretary to forward your call. And if it's me phoning, they'll probably just send me to voicemail, anyway.'

'The prank calls are just a warm up, okay. We'll do it until we get a good one and then we'll move on. Next we make a fire in that big marble chimney thing and we burn a bunch of symbolic stuff. I'm thinking like one of your suits, but not all of them because that's expensive, and a bunch of office papers, and maybe one of those weird see-through glass awards that you have five million of.'

'Glass won't burn,' Heero said shortly.

'I bet it gets a little melty and breaks, though, and that's satisfying. Then we get drunk. But not, like, shit-faced, we have to save that for later. Escalation is important here. So mostly drunk, and then we all sit in a circle and say really nice things about you, build your ego back up. We bond. We get your head back on straight. Then we exercise your newfound freedom by doing a lot of stupid, dangerous crap around your house. I brought a bunch of violent video games and Heero can figure out which one of your staircases can double as a water slide. Then we sit in a circle again and you vent all the crap you had to take working at that place, really let it out. Then we go outside when it's really late at night and we yell “FUCK YOU WINNER ENTERPRISES!” until your neighbours complain. And that's when we go back in and drink until we puke. And if at any point you want to substitute one of these activities for watching porn or going to a bar to seduce a hot bartender, that is totally your decision.' Duo gave his knee a sympathetic squeeze. 'This week is all about you, friend.'

'Week?' Quatre repeated. 'Oh, Duo.'

Trowa clapped him on the shoulder. 'Ask him where he got this fantastic plan.'

'Hilde swears it works when her friends break up with their boyfriends. I did take out the step where you sleep with their best friend to get back at them. I figured, you know, all those dudes on the board are old.'

'If we're doing this, I'm showering first.' Trowa rose. He rubbed his hand over Quatre's hair, mussing it. 'Ready to emotionally expose yourself?'

 

**

 

Quatre puked into his fountain, and slumped down the cold stone rim. 'God,' he croaked.

Heero wet his hand in the water-- several feet away from the section Quatre had just decorated-- and brought it down on Quatre's neck. 'You really shouldn't let Duo goad you,' he said.

'No, he was right. I do feel better.' Quatre heaved again, and coughed pitiably into his elbow. 'I did, anyway.'

Heero sat on the ledge, facing out over the gravel path of the conservatory. 'This isn't you.'

'I don't think me was doing all that well, all things considered.' The gravel was hurting his knees. He tried to shift around without disturbing the tentative balance of the competing swirlies between his ears, and landed with his head on Heero's thigh. Heero caught him and stilled him. 'I've been sacked,' Quatre said thickly. 'No-one ever sacked my father.'

'They probably wanted to, at some point.'

'No, no-one ever-- ever.' Kind of Heero to hold him up. His arms just weren't up to the task. He did manage to twist around onto his rump, but Heero's thigh made a soft pillow, and his head was far too heavy to lift. Heero massaged his neck for him, kind Heero. 'I wanted to be good at it,' Quatre said. Heero's blue jeans were soft. He closed his eyes. 'Truly. It's just that it-- all seemed so-- petty.'

'It was,' Heero said softly. 'You've done great things. Bigger things than making a profit. It's fine for other people, but not for you. This whole place is like that. A monument to wasted effort.'

'That's what Rashid said about turning off the fountain.' That was funny. He laughed, except that it made his head spin. He clapped a hand over his eyes. 'He said it took much longer than he'd thought it would. Why would he say that?'

'Because he's proud of you and he wants you to do something worthy.' Heero rubbed at the tense muscles of Quatre's back. 'Do you know what you want to do now? You must have ideas. All along.'

Mars. He wanted to do something with the terraforming. Or go to university. Or found a university, that would be a fit use for the money, a place where people could go without having to pay extortionate fees, where education wouldn't be just for the wealthy, where they could teach the truth about the war, the peace, all the things that had led them to now. Co-sponsor Relena's Home for the Hungry Drive, he didn't need WEI to do that, and in fact without WEI he could do considerably more, could help her run it even--

Heero wet his hand again and applied it to Quatre's hot cheek. He was very gentle, for someone with such callused hands, the pads of his fingers on Quatre's skin.

Quatre clumsily wiped his nose, and Heero smiled, a tiny movement of his mouth that warmed his eyes. 'Do you feel any better now?'

'I think I got quite a lot of it out, anyway.' He did feel a little steadier. Duo was a wicked, wicked creature, and if that last mix had really had juice in it Quatre would eat his expensive suits. The last three drinks were a blur, really, but he supposed that was something of the point. He dropped his hand to Heero's shoe, to play with a loose lace. Heero double-knotted his laces. He said, 'Why did you leave there? Sanq?'

'I didn't leave,' Heero said. 'Relena asked me to go.'

'What? Why? I thought--' He wasn't quite certain what he thought. 'Do you want me to hate her? For making you leave?'

From the swimmy corner of his vision he saw Heero grin. It was fleeting, but it made him smile, too. He hid it in Heero's knee.

'You like her too much to hate her,' Heero answered. 'I like her still too.'

'You love her.'

'Yes,' Heero agreed. 'More than I knew I could love anyone.'

'Then why--' He sat up, and hesitated until he was sure he could stay that, and then made a ginger adventure of getting back up to the fountain's ledge, with Heero cautiously helping. 'I mean if you're in love, it's so cruel,' he said. 'If you're in love you should be together.'

'I don't know. I think...' Heero exhaled slowly through his nose. 'I think sometimes people feel too much about each other. Or have gone through too much together, and it's centred on each other, and when you're together you can't think about anything else. It's not that I stopped loving her. But it was too hard. Being around her was too hard. There was too much-- obligation. For both of us.'

He took Heero's hand. He never would have tried, never would have conceived doing it if he hadn't been three sheets to the wind, but Heero let him, and that was the moment when he realised there was something charged, something more than just two friends in sympathy. Heero's fingers curled around his. Heero was looking at him, calm but focussed. Heero was being more than kind. In fact Heero was reaching for him, touching the wet hair by his temple, brushing it back over his ear. And Quatre's stomach was making uneasy somersaults, but it wasn't out of protest.

'I'll walk you to your room,' Heero said then. 'Duo's a lot less energetic when he's hung over.'

'I think we'll all be.' He managed a breath, and another one after that, and put the odd tingle in his gut firmly out of mind. 'Um, you'll be all right? In your bedroom. Where you'll be.'

Heero rose. Quatre did, as well; or tried, at any rate, but Heero caught him and put an arm around his middle. 'Come on,' Heero said, and walked him up the gravel path.

Chapter Text

'I should really meet him at the shuttleport.' He twisted to look out the window, but the port was on the opposite side of the torus, well blocked from view by the solar fields between them. 'You think he'll ring when he docks?'

'I think he'll ring when he docks.' Trowa grimaced down a sip of antacid tea. 'I'm sure he'll be very disappointed to have missed the beginning of the party. We'll probably have to start over.'

'Ha,' Duo said. He gave Trowa an idle kick with a bare foot. 'You think you're being funny. Decent try.'

'Thanks,' Trowa replied drily.

'Oh, you're right though.' Quatre twisted for the window again, until Trowa rose to draw the curtain. He winked just a little when Quatre scowled at him, and flicked Quatre lightly on the nose. Quatre sneezed, and Trowa laughed himself back to his seat.

'But you are right,' Quatre said, rubbing his nose. 'We should do something nice to include him. But restful. It's a long flight from L5.'

'He was on L3.' Heero took the chair beside Quatre, though his eyes flicked to Trowa, on Quatre's other side. 'He'll be fine.'

'How about a picnic?' Duo suggested. 'We'll cart out a bunch of blankets and a bunch of wine and we'll do that part where we talk real nice about you again. No! Let's talk nice about each of us. I like that.'

Quatre was already smiling. 'I like that too. Duo has good ideas.'

'Aw, I'm blushing.' Duo grinned at him. 'And Quatre recognises genius when he sees it. And Heero looks good sitting next to it.'

'What's my quality?' Trowa asked.

'Sometimes when you're working out, you smell like chicken.'

'What? How is that a good thing?'

'You didn't specify a good quality. Just a quality quality.'

Cook was back again, rolling crust for pie. Quatre pressed a kiss to her plump cheek as he joined her at the big island in the kitchen. 'Enjoying your friends?' she asked him. Her fist dipped to the flour jar and scattered white powder in a perfect circle on the marble flat top.

'Yes, I am rather,' he said. He sneaked a sugar-coated gooseberry. 'Are these for us?'

'And to put a store in for later. All you'll have to do is take them out of the freezer to bake.' She applied her rolling pin with vigor, briskly flattening a round of dough. 'I've got savouries cooking as well. There's a smoked trout for supper.'

'That's very kind.' Since it was unoccupied, he took the stool near the big bank of ovens, warming his back. He'd often sat there as a child; it had been his favourite place to study, and had incidentally been a constant source of sweets. He'd been in danger of chub until he'd begun a stricter regimen in piloting. He said, 'You really ought to take the week. We can fend for ourselves. Or order out.'

'Nonsense.' She placidly ignored the face he made. 'I did put in a stock of new eggs. You know my hangover cure works every time.'

'I think your hangover cure is worse than the hangover, that's all.' His shudder wasn't faked. 'And we're bound to run out of alcohol soon. They can't have brought that much.'

Silently she pointed to the corner. God. There were two more crates on the table. Quatre sighed.

'We'll have a picnic today,' he said then. 'Out by the gazebo. Do we still have that chicken and olive salad?'

'I'll have it ready for you. And some melon. Fruit will do you well on a nice day outside.' Cook wiped her hands on her apron and turned to the pantry. Quatre rose to fetch a basket from the top shelf.

'Nice to see that young man again,' she murmured, taking it from him. 'He's a handsome one.'

'Heero?' he said blankly. 'I didn't think you'd ever met him.'

'Mister Barton.'

'Oh.' Suddenly his face was flaming. He scraped his sleeve over his cheek. 'Um-- yes. He's nice. Handsome. It's nice that he's-- here.'

'Hm,' said Cook, and shooed him out of the kitchen with a gentle swat to his backside.

The picnic was unexpectedly lovely. Duo's exploring unearthed an old electric heater from the storage behind the gazebo, and soon they were comfortably installed in a loose ring around it, sprawled out on every blanket they'd been able to find, and a few duvets and bed pillows besides. Despite having waked with a queasy stomach and a terrible head, reluctantly vanquished by Cook's awful raw-egg hangover cure, Quatre's protests about taking a break from the drinking stood with all the force of a stiff breeze when Duo hauled around one of those crates. Soon he was resting back on a nest of quilts with a crystal goblet full of peppermint schnapps.

'Why are all your liquors so girly?' he asked Duo, reaching to cover his feet with an edge of a blanket. Heero helped him. Their fingers brushed, and Quatre pulled his back quickly.

'I stole all of it from Hilde,' Duo confessed casually. 'She'll understand. It's for a good cause.'

'You'll replace it, won't you? I'll pay for it. I'm the good cause, aren't I?'

'You certainly are. To Quatre!' Duo raised his glass high. 'We're sorry about your company, Quatre. But here's to good riddance and to coming back in a year to do this again when you're gonna tell them how much they can suck on your new successes.'

Quatre was loose enough from the schnapps to roll his eyes at that. Duo laughed at him, but they clinked their goblets all the same.

'So why did they boot you?' Trowa asked. He lay propped on his side, his cheek resting on his palm, his eyes on Quatre. He had pomegranate and vodka, swirling slowly in his glass. 'You never said anything was wrong.'

'It was a bad quarter.' Quatre dropped his eyes to his own hands, which had gone tight on his glass. He couldn't relax them, so he put it down, carefully, and sat back against the wood siding of the gazebo. 'Bad year, really. They said I wasn't aggressive in defending WEI from tariff losses. They said they paid me to lobby for WEI and I was palling around with people who wrote bad policy. Higher taxes on corporations doing inter-Sphere business, they mean.' He practised flexing his fingers inside his blankets. 'And I settled two major lawsuits in preliminary hearings instead of taking them to trial to lower their asking. And they said I was too young and that my unique background didn't lend itself to the kind of decisions I had to make as executive officer.'

'That's bull,' Trowa said.

'No, it's not. Not from their perspective. Corporations make money. I was making less than my father, and in better times.' It was easier to say that with the schnapps loosening his tongue. Heero curved his mouth up, just a little, when Quatre looked at him. Quatre returned it with a smile.

'I wasn't incompetent,' he said then, and Heero nodded. 'I wanted to do the right thing. The good thing. But that wasn't the same thing as protecting WEI. So I suppose they're right. They need someone who will do that. And someone like Relena to make sure they only get so far within the law. But maybe you can't do both as an EO.'

'They held you back.' Heero said it decisively, quietly. He raised his glass to Quatre. 'You tried. But now you're free.'

'To freedom,' Duo echoed, and they toasted again. 'And, what the hell,' Duo added. 'Quatre for President! Show 'em what it means to be a real bad-ass EO.'

'I don't think my unique background qualifies me for that, either,' Quatre laughed. 'But thank you. All of you, thank you. For coming all this way for me.'

'Of course we'd come.' Trowa put a hand on Quatre's ankle and squeezed. He lifted his glass. Quatre touched it with his, and they drank. Trowa's thumb moved over Quatre's blanket-covered leg, and then he rolled away and stood up. 'Does anyone else want to try that banana-mango rum?'

'Ooh, me.' Duo finished his gin and tonic with a quick swallow and extended his cup. 'Not that this is why we came, but it is kind of cool to just lay around outside for once. Kind of a holiday. I mean, when's the last time we all just skivved off work and did what we wanted?'

'We get odd days off in Preventers,' Trowa said. He returned with a large clear bottle, and dripped rum into their cups. 'Heero gets a day off whenever he wants. The joy of running your own consulting firm. You and Quatre-- you're the only one who has a revolving door on your desk.'

'Scrapping's an all-hours business,' Duo said with dignity. He spoiled it by slurping his rum. 'Don't tell Hilde, but this is kind of awesome. But you're missing my point. What do you usually do on days off? Laundry. Emergency grocery shopping. Clean the kitchen. Well, supervise all the staff who do that stuff, if you're Quatre. But never just enjoy yourself.'

There was something to that. Quatre closed his eyes and turned his face up into the light. He couldn't easily remember the last time he'd had nothing at all to do. 'The day we destroyed our Gundams,' he said.

Silence fell. Then Trowa said, 'Yes.'

'Yeah.' Duo was smiling when Quatre peeked. 'That was a good day. Sad day, but good day.'

'What happened?' Heero asked. Quatre looked at him, suddenly remembering that Heero hadn't been there. Odd. He'd felt, when he'd brought it up, that Heero had.

'We found a big canyon in Brazil,' Duo told him. 'We waited until dawn to do it. I don't think we even talked about why, but it just sort of felt right. We stayed up all night, do you remember that, guys? We had one tent between the three of us and Trowa spent like three hours trying to light a fire the old fashioned way.'

'Never did get it,' Trowa murmured.

'But it was New Year's,' Quatre said. 'So it was warm as summer there. Southern Hemisphere's winter comes in July. I'd known about it, but it was astonishing, all the same. I think I'd lost all sense of seasons, in those years. Everywhere we went the weather pattern was different, and then I was in the colonies until the Barton Rebellion. All suddenly we were in this warm, blooming, beautiful place. And the sunlight over that gorge. I don't think I've seen anything as amazing as that dawn.'

'What was the name of that place?' Duo asked.

'Itaimbezinho,' Trowa said. 'It went on forever. This unending crack in the earth. We talked about hiking it, but we never did.'

'Not after the Gundams,' Quatre said, at the same time Trowa did. Their eyes caught. Trowa looked away first. He drank the rest of his rum in steady swallows.

'Let's make a pledge.' Duo threw off his duvet and rose to his knees, holding his cup out over the heater. 'Once a year, no excuses. We meet up and we do this again. We talk, we let it out. We commune. And when Wufei gets here we make him swear too.'

'Agreed.' Quatre fetched his goblet and he touched it to Duo's. 'Once a year. No excuses.'

'Forever?' Heero wondered. 'What if we outgrow it? What if we move far away?'

'We won't, that's all.' Duo gestured him fiercely, and Heero buried a smile. He shuffled up on a knee and joined them, and tilted his glass to meet theirs. 'All right,' Heero said. 'I'm in.'

'Then I guess it's just me left.' Trowa crouched in their circle, and bumped each glass with his own. 'And let me also thank Duo for not making us do this in blood.'

'Only cause I hadn't thought of it! Quatre, you have anything sharp?'

'Don't be gross,' Heero said, and gave Duo a light shove. Duo went over like a tree being logged, however, and he made a grab for Trowa that took him down, too. Quatre scrambled out of the way, tripping himself up in his own blankets, and Heero shook his head and fetched the crème liqueur.

Duo found a deflated old football in the storage, and after a struggle with the pump they managed to get it round again, and they played a long, giggly sort of game, none of them the least familiar with the rules and all of them clumsy with drink. Quatre scraped his elbow on the grass and Duo caught a kickball in the face and Heero scored every single one of their goals, but mostly it was an excuse to run about and laugh. They ranged out across the property, paying a brief visit to the car park-- four antique Rolls Royces, a very fine collection for a colonial, though traffic was bad on L4 and Quatre preferred to ride the metro-- and then wandered through the art gallery, which was not a good collection because Quatre's grandfather had been fatally indifferent to art, even for the money in it, and Quatre's sisters had raided what was left when Quatre had merely shrugged over their father's will. Anything not specifically spoken for in the house had gone to the children to do with as they wished, and Quatre had found no reason to deny anyone anything. Without their father, there was nothing much left to link them all together. The Winners were scattered across Space and Earth, now. It hadn't taken long. And he blamed none of them for leaving. He might have, if the will hadn't been iron-clad about one thing: Quatre was to take WEI.

Excepting that his father had never imagined that WEI might not want him. His father's grip had been iron and no Board of Directors would have dared vote him out. Quatre's grip had been something on the order of cotton batting. WEI had more departments than a university and he'd never even heard them all; his first year he'd tried to visit all WEI locations, and managed sixty-seven before he'd given up in exhaustion. He'd wanted to read everything that came across his desk, and the Directors had wanted him to read none of it, just sign all of it. And he had been ludicrously young. Fifteen and both too sure and not sure enough. He'd had some private notion of changing everything, changing the world. But all the things he'd known how to do as an individual, as Quatre, didn't seem to work when he was Mister Winner, WEI Executive Officer. His mere existence had tanked WEI stock, the first two-- three-- four years.

And he was thinking about it again. He didn't want to be thinking about it. He drew a breath, and found Heero looking at him.

His face went hot. He turned, and knocked a painting off an easel.

Trowa helped him right it. 'You okay?' he asked. 'You look weird.'

'Fine. Sorry. Maybe it's time for a recovery period.'

'If I'm honest about it, I could sort of use a nap,' Duo said sheepishly. 'Am I the only one longing for his teens?'

'No,' Quatre said heavily. 'You're not.'

Trowa looked at him, now. He could feel eyes on both sides of himself, and cleared his throat. 'Shall I see you all off? Reconvene for dinner? Cook made fish pie. And Wufei should be here by then, we'll want to be cheery.'

'Ha,' Duo said. He chucked Quatre by the cheek, and hugged him quickly. 'All right. Power naps it is. Come on, Trowa. Heero, you coming?'

'In a minute.' Heero stood beside an ugly sculpture of a wolf. No wonder that none of his sisters had wanted it. Though in a way it seemed to suit Heero. Coiled and ready to spring.

'Are you really tired?' he asked Quatre abruptly.

'Um,' Quatre said. 'Not-- really. Tired. But not sleepy.'

Heero nodded as if he'd expected that. He said, 'Show me your practise room.'

'Practise room?'

'Your music practise room.'

'Now? You wouldn't rather rest?'

'Sometimes it's more important to rest the mind than the body,' Heero said. 'Come on.'

It had been a while since he'd actually practised anything. He'd left everything unlocked-- who would have wanted to steal anything?-- and so the door opened at his touch, but it smelled of must, and the curtains had been drawn so tightly it was almost entirely dark. He made his way past stools and music stands by memory, and threw back the heavy velvet drapes. Daylight poured in, catching the swirls of dust motes in a glittery dance. Heero closed the door.

'This is it,' Quatre said, wincing at himself. 'Father didn't really approve,' he added. He tied a curtain back with a tassel, and left the window to open the viola case on its shelf. 'Music study is just one of those things you do with children, I think. To encourage discipline and to keep them out of sight. But I was good at it. If I'd stayed with it I think I would have liked to be a musician. I'm too old now, though.'

'You're twenty-six,' Heero observed.

'A real musician starts at six and plays every day, all day,' he answered. He lifted the viola carefully, stroking the wood to feel if it was too dry. Maybe a little. He plucked a string, and tuned it gently. 'I don't really mind. And I suppose, as you've reminded me, that I have time to play more, now.'

'It's not a gulf you have to fill. It's all right to wait. The right thing will come.'

'It did for you? After you left Sanq?'

'Not entirely.' There was a long silence after that, and Quatre wondered if he'd been prying. He thought his memory of that fountain-side conversation with Heero was accurate, but he wasn't wholly sure about it. Or about that almost-kiss he was-- not wholly sure-- they'd almost had. It could have been just friendly concern, and only him who'd blown it up into something more.

Then Heero said, 'The security firm is stupid. It was something I did because I had to, to be near Relena legitimately. So she could give me a cheque, so there could be something legal on the books. It was colour for people who see black and white. I don't want to hire myself out to anyone else. So you're not the only one without a job, I guess.'

'So it seems.' He set the viola back in its velvet case, and closed the lid. 'I didn't know. I'm sorry. I must seem so silly to you, to be so upset over this.'

'That isn't what I meant.' Heero paused, and this time it read as awkward. Quatre smiled, trying to fix it, and Heero sighed. 'I meant I understand,' he said. 'Trying to make something out of a mess that goes back years.'

'That is how it feels.' And weight on his chest, as well, and he had a headache coming, or needed one of those hangover cures, or something. He rubbed his eyes, and sat where he was, putting his back to the instruments, put his head to the wall. 'I can look back and see each step I took, but it always felt like wading in quicksand. Only suddenly I'm out of it. I can't tell if it's because I made it free or if I drowned.'

Heero left the door. He was quiet seating himself next to Quatre, economical in every movement, his elbows tucked in, his knee cocked to his chest. He had double-knotted his trainers again. He said, 'Drowning isn't the struggle. Drowning is the giving up.'

He rubbed his eyes again. They weren't wet. He didn't think he had any crying in him. They were dry, too dry, and that was how he felt, too old for twenty-six. 'I'm not sure Duo's plan is really working,' he managed.

'Give it another couple of days.' Heero's head rolled toward him. Quatre carefully did not look. Heero reached into the pocket of his hoodie, and removed a flash drive. He held it out between them. 'Open your present.'

'The music you brought.' He had speakers in the room, of course. He pushed himself to his feet, and crossed the floor to the play station. The computer was a little slow turning on, as if it were grumpy about waking from a long sleep. Fair enough. But soon the pod lit with a welcoming little green blip, and Quatre plugged in the drive. 'Which track first?' he asked Heero. None of the list had names, just numbers.

'Any of them.'

In order, then. He selected the first, and set it on straight play. He thumbed up the volume, nudged up the bass. A low hum began first-- the brass. Then the strings, violins, in a sinister drawn-out rise that just as abruptly vanished. It began to feel familiar to him. A coda repeat on the opening notes; and then the wind instruments joined in, mournful accompaniment. 'I know this one,' he said. 'This is Rachmaninoff. Isle of the Dead.'

'Yes.'

'What made you choose this?'

'I heard you play it once. On the piano.'

'You did?' He turned for that. Heero was exactly as he'd been left, on the floor in the corner, now resting his chin on his elbow. 'When?'

'In Sanq,' Heero said. 'During the war. When you thought Trowa was dead.' He paused. 'I didn't mean to overhear. I was following that girl. Dorothy. She was following you.'

It was an odd thing. He didn't remember it at all. Trowa was the one who'd suffered retrograde amnesia, but sometimes Quatre thought he'd caught a bit of it, too. 'I suppose,' he began, and had nothing with which to finish.

'Dorothy asked you about it. You said the five-eight time was about rowing toward the Isle. And about breathing. That the song is about life as much as about death.'

'Oh,' Quatre began, scratching his neck. 'Um--'

'Which is straight out of page 238 of A Select Collection by Beauclerc. I read it in class at Relena's school, the first month of Operation Meteor.'

Now he knew his face was red. 'I'm a shameful plagiarist.'

'I thought it was funny. Like you were telling her to go away, but politely.'

'Did she? Go away?'

'No,' Heero said. 'She pretended to. But she followed you the rest of the day. I think she gave up after dinner.'

'You think?'

'I fell asleep,' Heero said, all straight faced. 'You weren't particularly interesting that day.'

Quatre tentatively grinned. 'Sorry,' he replied.

'It's all right. It's one of the things I like about you. You know how to bounce when you hit the bottom.'

The operetta swelled to a crescendo. 'Do you know,' Quatre answered, 'I think that's one of the best things anyone's said about me.'

Heero climbed up. 'Ready for that nap? You can listen to the rest later.'

He accepted that without comment. It felt right, to break here, to stop while they had reached a moment of mutual understanding. He was pleased by Heero's sensitivity. He was pleased at how well Heero knew him, or knew the best of him, or at least wanted him to be the best of himself, and he liked--

Heero met him at the play station, and kissed him.

It was almost nothing more than a brush of their lips. He forgot to breathe; and then his brain registered that it was over, that Heero was already opening the door to leave, that Heero was waiting for him. He bit his lower lip, and tasted nothing more than himself. Heero just waited, as if nothing had been done at all.

He swallowed, and followed Heero out.

 

**

 

The house was very quiet.

He seemed to be the first person up from sleeping. He checked the kitchen, but Cook had done as promised, and everything was cleaned and put away, excepting the fish pie, which waited on the countertop.

He made a fresh pot of tea, thinking he could use the caffeine. Then, since he had the time, he made up a tray for the others, and added the gooseberry tarts and a few ripe plums as well. On consideration, he chose a tea set that was slightly chipped and a little ugly-- they'd lost at least two of the stemmed wine glasses already, and he might as well limit the damage to things he could break with equanimity. With the tea steeping in its pot, he carried the tray out the door and into the halls.

Duo's room was first in the guest wing, but he got no answer when he knocked. Hoping Duo wouldn't mind, Quatre juggled the tray to test the latch. Unlocked. He knocked again, just to be sure, and peeked in. 'Duo?' he called softly. 'You awake?'

No answer, and the bed did not appear to have been slept in-- at all, actually. There was a pile of sheeting in front of the hearth, though, and Quatre smiled at that. Well, if Duo was out exploring again, at least he was entertained. Quatre shut the door behind him and moved on.

Trowa's room was next. Quatre knocked once. 'Hullo?' he whispered through the door. 'Trowa, it's Quatre.'

No answer there, either. Quatre leant his ear to the wood. Trowa wasn't the type to wander on his own, or at least he'd never done in the--

That was a groan. And a name.

He actually didn't put it together right away. He stood there listening at doors and heard what he heard and none of it registered. It wasn't until it repeated that some self-preserving instinct finally cottoned on. He was pulling away before his brain caught up.

The name he'd heard was Duo. In Trowa's room.

He slid the tray onto the hall table nearest. His hands were shaking, and he felt hot. Stupid, he thought, stupid. To even care.

'Quatre.' It was Heero, just coming out of his own room. His hair was mashed on one side, and his eyes were still half-closed and puffy. He checked his watch. 'I slept longer than I meant to.'

'It's all right.' He had enough composure for this. He did. He summoned straight shoulders. Straight spine. He inclined his head. 'I've brought tea. Are you thirsty?'

'Thanks.' Heero joined him, barefoot, upended a cup for Quatre to pour in. 'Any for you?'

'No. No, I have to-- go. Check on. See if Wufei's rung yet.'

'He would have texted me.' Heero dropped a cube of sugar into his tea, and sipped it. 'Are you all right?'

'Yes,' he said. 'Excuse me, I'll just--'

Heero's eyes went to the door. Quatre tried, but he couldn't pretend he hadn't heard it too. It was too loud, and followed by a small crash, two voices in laughter quickly stifled. Heero looked quickly at his face.

'Go,' Quatre said. 'I'm sorry. Excuse me.'

'Quatre.' Heero followed him, put on a burst of speed and got ahead of him. 'Quatre,' he said harshly, taking him by the arms.

Quatre kissed him, this time. From some strange place inside of him, a place that rejected hurt and fought back. There had been too much, and too much self-pity as well, and he was done standing still for it.

Heero's hands on his arms went crushingly tight. But his mouth opened under Quatre's, and then his hands went into Quatre's hair, threading through, cupping him near. His waist was all hard muscle under Quatre's palms, his skin hot when his shirt lifted. Heero said his name again, and Quatre swallowed it up, silenced it with his tongue. Heero clenched him close, hard enough to bruise, his fist in Quatre's hair pulled so tight his scalp tingled in pain.

There was whispering, just a murmur of voices, and then Trowa's door opened. Heero jumped, but Quatre didn't. He held Heero just a moment longer, pressed his lips to Heero's throat. Then he let go, and he walked away. He heard his name, and ignored it. He met the stairs and went down them, even steps, and made it nineteen and to the landing before his knees went weak. He braced himself on the banister, and sucked in a deep breath.

Chapter Text

'Where the hell is everyone?' Wufei dropped his bags into the gravel with a crunch. 'No-one is answering their phones.'

Quatre started guiltily. 'I'm sorry about that. I thought one of them would.'

'Everyone is going straight to voicemail.' Wufei shed his jacket, as well, tossing it right at his feet with a cranky flip of his wrist. 'Why aren't there any cabs at your shuttleport? I had to take a bus.'

'Part of a traffic control programme. I am sorry.' His feet were wet from dangling in the fountain pool. He started to rise, but Wufei waved him off, and then was joining him, shucking his shoes and sliding over the edge with a sigh of satisfaction. 'They didn't charge you too much for the ticket?'

'I used my badge to bully my way on.' Wufei splashed a little, settled back on his wrists. 'You don't have to tell anyone I said that.'

Quatre smiled involuntarily. 'My lips are sealed.'

'You didn't answer me. Where is everyone?'

He didn't know. Hiding, he supposed. It was well after midnight. He hadn't seen anyone for hours. 'Off somewhere,' he said, trying to be vague. 'Sleeping it-- sleeping it off.'

'Mm.' Wufei reached back for his bag, pulling at a flap. He handed Quatre a book. 'Here. This is for you.'

Quatre turned it into the dim light of the lamps that glowed from the garden path. '”The History of Logic and An Annotated Ontological Bibliography”.' He opened the book, but it was the same inside as the cover indicated. 'Um-- thank you.'

Wufei grimaced. 'Duo said we all had to bring you something. I didn't have time to shop. I was on a damn assignment.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Oh, stop saying that.' Wufei sighed. 'I'm sorry. About your situation. And about crashing your home to force-feed you good cheer. If it were me, I'd want quiet and time to reflect on my circumstances. But you know Duo.'

'Yes,' Quatre said, and put the book down carefully beside him. 'I suppose I do.'

'He insisted, we resisted, and yet here we all are anyway. Does it seem to be helping?' Wufei looked at him keenly. 'Have you slept at all this decade?'

'Depends on what decade it is.'

His weak joke flopped. Wufei never even blinked. 'I thought the plan was drinking and carousing,' he said. 'I find it hard to believe you wore the rest of them out and kept the party going yourself. Those idiots were supposed to keep you company.'

'It's fine, Wufei.'

'Granted it wasn't much of a plan, but they could at least be bothered to see it through.' Wufei clapped him on the shoulder and stood. 'Let's go.'

'Where are we going?' Quatre rose. He reluctantly brought the book with him. 'Wouldn't you rather rest after your trip?'

'I will. After you do.' Wufei paused long enough to dry his feet on the lining of his jacket. Quatre tried to take the strap of his luggage, and was shooed brusquely off. 'Where are you shoes?'

'I-- haven't any idea,' Quatre said.

'Really.' Those two syllables were eminently expressive of derision. When Quatre blushed, however, Wufei sighed again. Then he punched Quatre's shoulder so hard that Quatre stumbled and stepped off the path, squashing a purple-flowered bromeliad.

'Ow,' he objected.

'Sorry,' Wufei muttered, his cheeks ever so slightly darker. 'That wasn't-- didn't happen the way I thought-- here.' He helped Quatre back onto the gravel path. 'Your bedroom is in which direction?'

'Third storey, up the Lower White Bell Stairs and past the Port Royale Parlour. Wouldn't you rather I showed you to yours first?'

'You can draw me a map. The others are all in the same place? I could just follow the noise of Duo being Duo. That mouth of his never gets a rest.'

'I'm sure.'

'Has he told you he's learning to yodel? Don't fall for it, it's a trick. He puts his head to your ear and screams. Yuy almost murdered him. Barton seems to think it's funny.'

'Wufei, thank you for the conversation, I think you're right, I-- will just go on to bed. You can find your way?'

Wufei looked at him in surprise. 'Are you all right? You've gone red.'

'I just don't want to talk about Duo right now,' he said, just managing to keep a level tone. 'Forgive me, I'll just leave--'

'God.' Wufei stopped walking. He said, 'You know, don't you.'

'What?' He faced his friend, then turned his back again when he felt a hot flush come over him. 'You know.'

'Forgive me.' Wufei came an awkward step near, too far away to touch. Quatre pressed his hands to his overheated neck. 'There's nothing official,' Wufei said then, subdued now. 'They've never confirmed. I've never asked.'

'But it's been going on long enough that all of you know.' Ah. More humiliation. He hadn't put it together, Heero's new protectiveness. His subtle hostility to Trowa. They'd all known.

'How long?' he asked, once and only once.

'Perhaps six months,' was Wufei's quiet answer.

Why it even hurt him, he couldn't have said. He hadn't been anything to Trowa in so long. Maybe it had been a kindness, Trowa keeping it from him... but he hadn't imagined it, the lingering touches, the sideways looks, and it hadn't been confined just to this weekend. Yes, damn it, he was jealous. He was angry. He'd made himself a fool, believing it one more time, that they had something-- that he was special still to Trowa, and he'd--

Kissed Heero. So he supposed Trowa wasn't the only one making fools out of the lovelorn.

Oh, God. He'd kissed Heero. Who'd kissed him back. Heero was-- and Quatre had walked away without a word and Heero had to know it wasn't just about discovering Trowa and Duo, didn't he? But how could he, how could he expect anything else, when Quatre hadn't given him much encouragement from that moment they'd had in the music room.

He scrubbed his hand over tired eyes. 'I think I've buggered everything,' he said wearily. 'No wonder WEI fired me.'

 

**

 

No-one at all joined him for breakfast. Quatre drank half a pot of tea and ate a slice of melon, and found that that really answered for the whole of his ability to face the day.

He walked the house for a while, his hands in his pockets, not really minding his path. It really was a silly sort of place, so much empty space dedicated to a family who no longer lived there. In his childhood there had been multiple generations, aunts and uncles and grandparents who'd all slowly gone their own way, as the war had divided loyalties, made travel difficult, severed ties. By the time of his father's death there'd been no parties in years, no reunions, no new babies. It was a relic of old times, times that might never return. Quatre felt some sadness at that, but no real impetus to change it. Duo was right about that, at least. It was a house full of history, his own history, but it wasn't for the future.

His feet travelled without his conscious direction, but he was unsurprised to realise his ultimate destination. He'd walked here every day for eleven years. His office.

He confined himself to a single lamp. He'd always liked it brightly lit, when he'd been working; it had reminded him of sunlight on Earth. Bright, with fresh flowers and leafy green plants, the window open to the garden below, to let the sounds and smells of the colony in. The last batch of flowers had gone dry and droopy, in the days since the news. He sprayed his plants with water, but dropped the flowers into the bin to throw away. He dropped his bronze nameplate in after it. Then, slowly, he reached for the leather dossier he'd carried for years. The surface was scratched, worn on one corner, and the clasp had long tarnished, but he'd known every dent and ding. He flipped it open, and slid the computer pad from the sleeve. He'd have to purge the drive properly for sensitive material; maybe his niece would take it for school. The dossier was really too old to pass on, though.

He exhaled hard, and threw it into the bin.

He was emptying his third bin into the trash chute at the end of the hall when he heard a noise. 'Hello?' he called. He hefted the bin in his arm, and ventured toward the stairs. 'Someone there?'

'It's me.'

Heero. He looked as if he hadn't slept, either. There were dark smudges under his eyes, and his hair hadn't combed flat, but stood out on the sides. He wore a dress shirt untucked over denims, a soft robin's egg blue that rumpled just slightly at the elbows. Quatre smiled on seeing that, though it faded quickly.

'I'm sorry,' he said.

Heero hunched a shoulder. 'You don't have to apologise.'

'I think I do, rather.' He sighed, and hugged the bin to his chest. 'Heero, I really am sorry. For my epically bad timing, my selfishness, and-- also for biting you a little.'

This time it was Heero who smiled. 'I didn't actually mind that.' He closed the distance between them, and took the bin. Quatre let it go reluctantly. 'You don't have staff to take out the garbage now? It's kind of a big building.'

'Marcy and Topher comes on Thursdays,' he said. 'I'm emptying my office.'

Heero nodded. 'Do you want help?'

'There's not much to it. Just paper, and a few odds and bobs.' Heero reached out, and took his hand. Quatre's face flamed utterly independently of the hopeful turn his stomach made. 'Um,' Quatre said. 'And-- I-- yes.'

'Come on.' Heero tugged, and Quatre followed. Heero pulled him through the open door of his office, and put the bin on the desktop. 'Do you want to get rid of those old books?'

'What are they?'

Heero removed one from the shelf. 'Quarterly reports.'

'Definitely.' He flexed his fingers, wondering if he was only imagining that they tingled. He sat in his chair, and opened the file cabinet at his knee. One of those glass awards. It made a satisfying thunk, landing in the bin.

'Picture on the wall?'

'Burn it,' Quatre said.

Heero removed it from its hook, and cocked it corner-wise into the bin. He stood looking down at Quatre, and then he crouched instead, idly rifling the files in Quatre's drawer. He murmured, 'Wufei said he accidentally told you everything.'

'I think he'd drunk about a litre of coffee before he got in.' Quatre dropped his head back to the chair cushion. 'It would have come out at some point.'

'No-one wanted to hurt you. Especially this week.'

'I know.'

'Are you still in love with him?'

That was the rub. 'I don't know,' he admitted honestly. 'If you'd asked me before all of this, I would have said no. I don't know if that's self-delusion or if I'm just miffed that it's Duo, of all people.'

'You like Duo.'

'I love Duo like a brother. I think that makes it worse.' He picked at a torn nail. 'How could Duo be right for him, but not me?'

Heero rose, but only to sit on the edge of the desk. He pushed the cuffs of his shirt up, gripped the desk. 'It's not right or wrong,' he answered finally. 'Do you remember what I told you about Relena?'

'Mostly,' he hedged. That night at the fountain was fuzzy. 'She asked you to leave Sanq. You said you thought you felt too much for her. That it made it hard to be with her.'

'We would eat dinner and I would think about the things I'd done wrong,' Heero said softly. 'We would walk at night and I would think about the things I wished I'd done that I hadn't. I couldn't not think about it when I was with her. I wanted her to be happy, but I wasn't happy. I couldn't look at her without remembering everything all the time. There was no way to move on. Can you really say it wasn't like that with Trowa?'

It had taken him months of sleeping with Trowa to make it through the night without waking in a panic to check Trowa's breathing. He'd had nightmares, nightmares that had never really gone away, of being trapped in his gundam, unable to reach Trowa in time. And there'd been WEI, slowly taking over his life, daily, hourly reminders that his father had been a behemoth leaving an unfillable hole behind, and it had been Quatre's fault that hole was there at all, Quatre's war that had killed him. He hadn't wanted to burden Trowa with his doubts, and some small-- not so small part of him had feared that Trowa would blame him. They'd never directly talked about ZERO, that awful time when Trowa had nearly died and Quatre had nearly lost himself; they'd never talked about it except to agree that they shouldn't talk about it, but that hadn't stopped it from lingering on his tongue, day after day. It had been one more thing in bed with them that didn't vanish when the lights went down.

He put his head back on the cushion. His eyes were tired, aching when he rubbed them. 'That still doesn't answer why Duo,' he said huskily. He cleared his throat. 'Why it's good with Duo when it wasn't with me.'

'Why are you and I right for each other?'

He looked up. Heero's gaze was direct, but it was always direct; steady, but he was always steady. 'Do you think that?' he asked, almost voiceless.

'Yes,' Heero said.

'Why?'

'There's no blame.' Heero took his hand again, turning it palm-up, then curling his fingers closed. 'There's hurt, but there's also healing. Balance. You know me. You see me. You accept me for what I am, not the things I could have been.'

Try as he did, he had nothing to say to that. In the end, all he could do was smile. 'I'm glad,' he whispered.

The corner of Heero's mouth turned up. 'So am I.'

It was their third kiss, and he had time to anticipate it, to wonder what it would be like-- yet the moment was absent all the old nerves he'd used to feel, the worries about his inexperience, the fear he wouldn't be good enough. Heero put a hand on each arm of the chair, leaned over him slowly. Quatre licked his lips just before Heero pressed his mouth to Quatre's. And it was gentle. Almost-- sweet. Heero kissed his mouth, then the tip of his nose, his temple. Quatre inhaled, and shivered at the warmth of Heero's breath on his ear.

'I think we have a few hours before the others will work up the courage to look for you,' Heero murmured.

'We're not...' He had to swallow to speak. 'We're not moving too quickly?'

Heero considered that, his thumb stroking Quatre's jaw, his chin resting on Quatre's hair. 'What would slow be like?'

Agonising. 'Never mind,' Quatre said.

Heero popped the first button of his shirt, one-handed, and managed the second and third that way before Quatre got the point, and started helping. His belt was harder, and he made a clumsy twist to get it unbuckled, before Heero stood straight and made room for him. Quatre left the belt dangling by a single loop as Heero pushed his shirt from his arms, smoothed a palm down his chest. The feel of Heero's silk shirt against his bare skin was crisp and wonderful, but not nearly as wonderful as the feel of Heero's shoulders round and firm under his hands, the jagged bumps of his shoulderblades, the dimpled indent of his spine. He'd never not been nervous with Trowa, even when it had been good nerves, adrenaline and eagerness, but now that was gone as if it had never been, and in its place he felt a kind of deep calm. Not calm, precisely, because his body responded enthusiastically to Heero's touch, smell, enticing nearness, but his mind welcomed this new experience with peace. What Heero felt was a mystery, but it was strong, an intensity in the way his broad hands framed Quatre's face, the restraint in his bunched muscles, the way he stared into Quatre's eyes, never for one second looking away.

Heero's fingers parted the flies of his trousers, past the barrier of his shorts. Quatre closed his eyes on the warmth that spread from his touch. Open-mouthed, he mapped the strong tendons of Heero's neck, followed a tiny flinch of surprise to a nerve bundle in his collar, laving it with his tongue. Heero moved him; he stepped, no idea where he was being moved, but content in his trust that Heero wouldn't mislead him. His heels found the wall, and Heero pressed him slowly back into it. Heero cupped his groin, massaging lightly, and Quatre wrapped both arms about Heero's shoulders, rested his head, breathed. Heero's hair was coarse and clean-smelling, thick between his fingers, and Heero's mouth was hot on his, each kiss lasting longer than the one before, until finally it broke, and Heero slid slowly back.

'Do you want to go to your bedroom?' he asked.

He shook his head, the most he could manage. 'Sofa,' he said, pointing to the corner. It was covered with binders and project files, but they tumbled happily to the floor when Heero gave them a negligent push. The leather was cool on his flanks, squeaked as they stretched out on it, clinging to their bare skin. He buried a grin in Heero's bicep.

'What?' Heero whispered. He slid his hand beneath the elastic band of Quatre's boxers. 'You're smiling.'

He let his head fall back, covered his eyes with his arm. 'Nothing.'

'Tell me.' Heero shifted over him, settled heavy against him, to guide Quatre's hand to return his slow exploring. 'What.'

'It's just--' Sightless, it caught him up for a moment, and he held his breath, bit his lip. Heero's mouth on his chest moved in time with his clever fingers.

'I think,' he said, 'this might be the first time I've actually liked being in this room.'

 

**

 

'Draw the bow over the string, like this,' Quatre instructed, reaching over Wufei's shoulder to help him hold the bow steady. 'And now your fingers on the fret are what make the notes. The bow just provides the vibration of the string. This is called playing arco. When you pluck the strings with your fingers, that's pizzicato.'

Wufei made a brave attempt at it, but gave up with a grimace when his note emerged sour and uncertain. 'I'll take your word for it. Here. You play something.'

'You never studied music?'

'Our traditional Confucian education is mostly rote reading of the classics and an unhealthy emphasis on strict morality,' Wufei answered, in the clipped tone he often used when speaking of his childhood. 'Education was a tool to teach you how to serve your clan, not to hone the mind, and especially not to waste your time on creative nonsense. If you wanted to be an artist, you had better be a penniless second son with no prospects.' He handed off the viola to Quatre, though he played with the bow a moment longer, carefully touching the strings, sighting down the length of it. 'I only learnt English to launch on Earth. And I was never, ever allowed to speak it in the house.'

'I thought my upbringing was provincial,' Quatre noted. He stroked a string of the viola, and rose to return it to its case. Heero caught the edge of his sleeve as he passed. Though he was aware of Wufei watching, he let the warmth in his chest spread to his eyes, his smile. Heero's gaze softened.

When he raised his head, Wufei seemed oddly satisfied. 'So,' he said, at his sharpest. 'Do I take from this that you two have talked?'

'Take whatever you like,' Heero said, propping himself back on his chair with another pillow.

'I applaud your wisdom in cutting the red tape. There's no point in dithering about these things.'

'I'm not so forward as the rest of you,' Quatre complained, flinging himself back into an easy chair. 'Clearly. I remember a time of decisiveness and forthrightness, but I think it vanished the minute I accepted my position at WEI.'

'You don't have a problem with decisions. You have a problem with wanting everyone to be happy with the decisions you make.' Heero rolled his head to follow Quatre around the room. 'It's all right to decide to make yourself happy.'

Wufei was nodding. 'Excellently stated. He's right, Quatre. You've given enough of yourself to others. Hold some in reserve.'

Quatre stuck out his tongue at both of them, but he didn't feel the same vague shame and weariness of the past nine days. Perhaps he was getting used to it, losing WEI and-- other things. It just didn't cut so much to hear them say that.

Then again, perhaps it had other origins, his new acceptance of his fate. Heero's shirt was open at the collar, revealing a tantalising vee of tan skin. Their eyes met and held. Quatre hid a smile in his hand.

'Well.' Wufei set aside the bow, and lifted a flute instead. He examined the lip plate and keys, depressing them one by one. 'Do we write wedding invitations now? Rent tuxedos? Or will you go the non-traditional route and simply move in?'

'Shut up,' Heero muttered companionably. 'Don't be nosy.'

'I only ask so that we don't schedule overlapping dates.' Wufei fussed with the foot joint, popping it off and fumbling to get it back on. 'I'll... be getting married this winter.'

'What?' Quatre sat up straight. 'Wufei, truly?'

'Yes.' Wufei held himself stiffly, glancing at him sidelong. 'I don't tell you now to steal attention away from you in a difficult time. Maybe I ought to have waited.'

'Wufei, this is the best distraction I could have asked for.' He rose to take Wufei's hand, pressing it tightly. 'Congratulations! But what's her name? What is she like?'

'Her name is Yan'er.' Wufei sat slowly. 'She's a cousin of my mother's, by marriage. It's a good match-- better for me than her, really. She's very well educated-- real education, not like my clan. Doctoral degrees in engineering and literature. Speaks five languages. And she travels everywhere already, so my lifestyle in Preventers won't be a burden to her.'

'But what is she like?'

Wufei drew a deep slow breath. 'Kind,' he said at last. 'She makes me laugh. She loves to tell jokes-- only she isn't very good at it. It's-- she's very-- I like her.' He inhaled again, and finished in a brusque rush. 'The wedding will be ridiculous, of course. Her family are wealthy, and I still owe something to my family name. So there will be hundreds of guests and banquets and-- my point is that it won't be at all entertaining for anyone, so Yan'er and I want to have a dinner just for our friends. And I hope that you will both come.'

Quatre squeezed Wufei's hand with both of his. 'It would be my honour and privilege.'

'I want to invite Trowa and Duo as well.' Wufei looked at him solemnly. 'You'll be all right if I do?'

It caught him off guard, that not-quite offer. 'They're your friends,' he answered quietly. 'And mine. Of course it's all right.'

'It doesn't have to be all right,' Heero said later.

'Of course it does.' They'd finished clearing his office, and had moved on to purging his closet of work clothes. Purging his closet had mostly consisted of stripping hangers of shirts and then kissing and then rolling around on the carpet together until they reached a mutually satisfying endpoint. Heero was awfully good at certain things for a man who'd been in love with a woman for years. Quatre flipped a sleeve over his eyes, and Heero leant over to help him wrap it like a turban. They kissed, slow and hard, Heero's teeth pulling at his lip. Quatre pillowed his head on a wool coat. 'It is, though,' he added belatedly. 'All right. I have until winter to learn how not to blush.'

Heero propped himself on an elbow over Quatre. 'Why is he marrying her if he doesn't love her?'

'Wufei? He said he likes her.'

'And that's enough for marriage?'

'Maybe. Probably, for someone practical, like Wufei.' Quatre adjusted his turban, folding a hemline back into place. 'You know the clans on L5. Match-making is usual. It might be happier than his last marriage, made for his clan's convenience.'

'Would you ever have done it? Married someone your family chose for you?'

'Yes,' he admitted slowly. 'I think there was a point where I would have done. If my father had lived I'm sure he would have tried. But there was a war. After that, I knew myself better. And... I knew I wouldn't ever have been happy with a woman, and I'm very sure no woman would ever have been happy with me.'

Heero's mouth turned up at that. 'I don't know.' He lay back beside Quatre. 'Cook seems glued to your side.'

'She has to love me; she all but raised me.'

Heero kissed him swiftly. 'Quatre--'

There was a knock at the bedroom door. Heero sighed, and rolled off him. Quatre laughed. 'Wufei?' he called. 'I ordered Greek for dinner, it ought to be here in twenty minutes.'

The door creaked as it opened. 'It's not Wufei,' came the meek answer.

Quatre sat up. Heero did, too, slowly curling up. 'Do you want me to stay?' he asked softly.

Quatre scrubbed his face with both hands. 'No,' he said. 'It's all right. Go let him in. We'll be down later. For dinner.'

'It will be okay.' Heero kissed him one more time, pressing his lips to Quatre's temple. 'No hitting.'

'Har har.' He gave Heero a little push. 'Ger off.'

He dragged off his turban and gave it a toss into the pile of shirts, and tried to tame his hair where it stuck up. He heard and tried not to listen to the subdued greetings being exchanged, out in his bedroom, but he heard the door close, and then footsteps coming near. He zipped his trousers and tugged his hem out over the waistband, and stood quickly. He gathered an armful of clothes from the floor, and stepped out of the closet.

'Hey,' Duo said.

He inclined his head, trying to keep his eyes level, and failing. 'Hello, Duo.' He slid past his friend, to the sitting area by the bay window. He dropped his pile to a stool, balancing it when it began to topple. He held his breath to steady himself. When he felt ready, he about-faced. 'Do you mind if we talk outside?' he asked frankly.

Duo ducked his head. 'Yeah,' he said, and cleared his throat. 'Okay. Whatever you want.'

He opened the french doors to his balcony. The evening air bit in just his shirtsleeves, but he welcomed the jolt of energy it gave him. Duo joined him silently, coming to the railing, gripping it with both fists.

'Why are you here?' Quatre asked abruptly.

'I—'

'I mean-- why is it you here, and not Trowa?'

Duo snorted. 'He's busy deciding if he's embarrassed of himself or jealous of Heero.'

'Oh, please.'

'I get that you're upset and angry right now, so can we just agree that anything I say is going to be wrong and move on?' Duo faced him. 'You completely deserve time to be upset and angry. And I am so sorry, Quat, that it happened like this, this week especially.'

For all his fine words about being all right, he suddenly wasn't. 'You come dropping in here like it's supposed to be a grand surprise for me,' he said hotly, swinging about to confront Duo. 'And it was and I was even starting to enjoy it and then-- it's not even that I'm upset, Duo, it's that you didn't tell me. Six months? Are you that afraid to be honest with me?'

'I'm afraid to be-- be not as perfect as you, Quatre! Damn it, I mean, come on!' Duo spread his hands, then crammed them deep into his pockets. 'It's the worst week of your life and you make it look like a fucking breeze. And you're in the middle of suffering nobly and Heero just whoops and falls for you on the spot? Whatever.'

'Nothing happened with Heero until yesterday!'

'I apologise for doing it here,' Duo said quietly. He rocked in a step, then back; and then took it determinedly, bringing himself even with Quatre. 'But that's all I apologise for. You two are a long time over. Trowa promised me that there wasn't anything going on with you anymore.'

'No.' Quatre wet his lips. 'No, that's true. Well over.'

'I like him,' Duo said softly, and now a tiny note of pleading crept into his voice. 'And I think if we keep going, then one day he might like me, too. When he gets over not having you. I'm willing to wait for that. And I'm not here to ask you if that's okay with you, because it's between him and me. He's--' He stopped Quatre speaking by putting his hand on Quatre's arm, and Quatre stared down at his rough-knuckled fingers, his throat tight, his protest dying. 'He's easy, I mean, we're easy together. I mean-- I don't mean like that, but we are. It just works without all this extra explaining, and arguing, and-- I want you to say you understand, but even if you don't, Quatre, I want him in my life.'

He wanted to shout, and gave it good consideration, for all it would be utterly incoherent. He had no bloody idea what he wanted to say and even if he had, his tongue didn't seem to be working. He made a sad attempt at it, got a gargle and a squawk for all his effort, and ground the heel of his palms into his eyes and tried to pretend away that now, finally, when he least wanted to show it, they were a little damp and stinging. He tried again to say something, anything now, and had to bite his lip.

Duo took one more step toward him, and embraced him. He wrapped both arms tight around Quatre, and Quatre made fists in his shirt. 'I'm sorry,' Duo whispered. 'I didn't want to hurt you.'

'It's stupid,' he mumbled.

'It's not. And the timing is hell and we lied and we were wrong and you deserve to be pissed.' Duo crunched him tight, and eased away. 'And I don't mean this in any particular way, but your shirt is buttoned wrong.'

God. There was the blush again. He fumbled his buttons. He'd lined them up wrong, in the scramble.

'It's okay.' Duo helped him with the last one, tugging it into place. 'I encourage a little randy roll in the hay on bad days.'

'There's no end to humiliation, is there.'

'Not that I've ever noticed.' Duo tugged at his braid, an old habit expressive of uncertainty. 'So... Heero, huh.'

'It is a little surreal.'

'Not that much. I always kind of thought he had a thing for you. He saved all your letters. I'm pretty sure all my Christmas cards just went straight into the trash.'

'That's not true.'

'I know.' Duo offered a tentative grin. 'You know-- all things considered-- he's probably better for you than seducing a hot bartender, but it's nice to blow off steam, isn't it.'

'It's not just steam. I think. I—' He rubbed his neck, feeling it heating up again. 'Think.'

Duo searched his face. 'That would be good. For both of you.'

'And...' He had to reach deep for it, but when he breathed out, he made himself release the last of that old wounded feeling, the last of that old and forlorn little hope that one day, one day, Trowa would come back. He said, 'I hope it's good. For both of you, as well.'

Duo nodded slowly. 'I hope so. For everyone. And Wufei, I guess, too. We could set him up with Hilde or someone.'

'About that. He's a little ahead of us.' He wiped his eyes a final time, forcibly dismissed the silly wobble of his gut. 'I've an idea about that. For all of this. Maybe-- maybe you could help me? You're better at planning this kind of thing than I am.'

'Happy to help. Yeah.' Duo cocked his head, looking up at Quatre from the corners of his eyes. 'Quatre? Are we okay?'

'Absolutely.' He made himself smile. 'Of course we are.'

Chapter Text

'You know what I like about Greek food?' Duo said. 'How it always tastes just a little bit like goat. Even the things that aren't goat. It's like they marinate it all in goat juice.'

'You don't know what goat tastes like,' Heero said, and knocked Duo's hand away from the tiropita.

'I do, too. Rashid made me a big old plate of goat that first night in the desert, remember, Quatre? He said it would put hair on my chest. Look, he was right.' Duo pulled down the vee of his tee shirt to display his pectorals. 'Right there, that one. Sprouted that very night.'

'Which one?' Wufei bent to look closer. 'This one?'

'This one.'

'Oh, this one.' Wufei shot out a hand, and gave Duo's chest a hard yank. Duo squawked and shoved Wufei off by the face. Wufei won by launching the last of the lemon chicken soup at Duo's lap, and Duo scrambled off to clean himself with a grumbling mutter.

Quatre sipped his frappé, wiping foam from his upper lip. He didn't mind their teasing and play, but it felt a little forced, to him at least. He hoped Wufei didn't mind it any. If this meal lacked the easy fun and relaxed banter of the past few days, at least Wufei had nothing to compare it to.

He reached for Heero's shoe, giving one of those tight knots a little tug. 'Afraid of losing them?'

'Like you always do.' Heero rubbed a knuckle over Quatre's bare arch, and Quatre bit his lip at the smile the tickle raised. 'Are you allergic to shoes?'

'I just don't like having my toes pinched.' He was distracted by Duo's harrumphing return. 'Another plate? Don't they feed you, on L2?'

'Taking it up to Trowa.' Duo's eyes met his, over the lid of the moussaka, then slid south. 'Try to convince him it's safe to come out. At some point he'll get bored of counting ceiling tiles.'

Heero and Wufei were no aid, both going mum, Wufei deeply concentrated on his grilled octopus, and Heero staring directly, just not helpfully. Quatre said, 'He likes the gyros.'

'Um, yeah. I know. Thanks for getting those.' Duo lifted a foil wrap and added a couple of the fried meatballs. 'I'll be back in a jiff. Gotta have dessert, right.'

'This is going to get tiresome,' Wufei suggested, as Duo disappeared through the doors. 'I wouldn't have thought it of Trowa. Hiding away like this is cowardly.'

'It's not cowardly.' Quatre plucked a spoon from their platter and used it to stir his coffee, vigorously enough to splash his hand. 'It's more... unsportsmanlike.'

Heero snorted. 'Unsportsmanlike,' Wufei echoed. 'You're being too kind, as usual.'

'No, I'm serious. He knows he's going to be yelled at. He can't avoid it, but he can delay it until we're all calmer. Or drunker.'

Wufei cocked his head. 'Bravo,' he said finally. 'I think that might be the meanest thing you've ever said about him.'

'I wasn't trying to be mean!'

'You've got to have a great sucking black hole of rage somewhere inside you.' Wufei pushed his chair back to the balcony rail, to prop his foot on Duo's empty seat. 'All those years of being so proper and so pent up. I sympathise, you know. At least I had a channel for release. You should take up Bāguàzhăng.'

Heero nodded thoughtfully. 'Maybe. Physical exercise can clarify the mind.'

'Martial arts are far more useful than just physical exercise. The nèijiā soothe the qi. Bring you into balance with yourself and the world around you.'

'Maybe I'll just start riding my bicycle again.'

Wufei rolled his eyes. 'Simpleton.'

Somewhere inside, a phone began to ring. 'Damn,' Quatre said, 'I forgot the receiver. I should get that, it's probably family, checking to see if I've died in despair yet.' He quickly wiped his fingers on a paper napkin and made a run inside. The trill of the phone chased him from the dining hall to the corridor, but he'd been careless with the receivers in the last few weeks-- well, and expressing a little of that sucking black hole of rage, by unplugging them systematically when he'd reached critical mass of sisters ringing with an unpleasant mix of told-you-so and oh, darling, we're so sorry. So he made a mad dash down back stairwell and finally fetched up on one of the old wall sets. Just in time for it to stop ringing.

'They'll leave a message.'

Trowa.

Quatre put his head on the wall. His breath was tight, and it wasn't just the run he'd had to get to the phone. Trowa, of course, wasn't at all bestirred. And, damn him, was wearing that green shirt Quatre loved the most, the henley collar and the sleeves pushed up carelessly over his big bony wrists. Accidental choice? The shirt was almost as old as their relationship. Maybe it was Duo's favourite, too. The way it brought out the emerald in Trowa's eyes.

'Do you want to start with calling me names?' Trowa took up a stance on the wall next to him, then put his back to it. 'I'll start. Bastard. Liar. Dickhead.'

'Jerk.'

'You can do better.'

'Jerkoff.' Quatre flipped himself around, thumping the back of his head into the corner of phone and wall panel. They were close enough he could feel Trowa's heat, warm against his shoulder. 'You're a-- mean jerkoff.'

Trowa exhaled a tiny laugh. 'Clean living has spoiled you. You used to be better at cussing.'

'I'm out of practise.' He roused himself for one good sally, but lost his heat almost as he opened his mouth. 'Don't you ever send Duo to do your dirty work again. He's better than that.'

Trowa's muscles tightened, so much that even Quatre felt it. After a moment, Trowa inclined his head.

He'd thought he'd have more to say. But he didn't. Duo had been right about one thing; he and Trowa had been over for a long time, a very long time, and what little was left was as much his fault as Trowa's. 'I don't want to have to be the bigger man here,' he said finally. 'But I don't want to be unfair to you, either.'

'I know. I shouldn't have put you in that position, either.'

'I know why you did.'

'That doesn't leave us with much to talk about.'

'No.'

Trowa faced him abruptly. He said, 'I've figured out what you should do with the house.'

That wasn't what he'd been expecting. He pulled in a sharp breath and held it. 'What? The house?'

'And what you should do with yourself. While you're figuring out what you want to do next.'

'Oh.' He let out the air through his nose, and replaced it slowly, letting it fill him deeply. 'What, then.'

'Hold a contest. Get entries from school kids and stuff like that. Whoever thinks of the best idea for what to do with the house gets the money and your help to make it happen.'

It was too big a jump for a mind that was sluggish with too many unfinished thoughts. But it settled slowly, sinking in. 'A contest,' he repeated. 'As in-- essays. Drawings.'

'Tweets.' Trowa's mouth curled up. 'We'll help you go through the entries. You'd have final say. I think it could be really amazing. Who knows what a thousand minds could think of that one can't.'

And who knew what could be done with all these old and unwanted things that filled a house this size. Money, indeed, for whatever purpose could be found. Oh, it did appeal to him, the more he thought on it. Children could be encouraged, and students, and just regular citizens, and there would be a campaign to gather attention, of course, publicising it, and he could dedicate a reward for the winner, or better yet hire on the winner to come make the project real. Could do that for no few Winner properties, actually; there were summer homes, winter homes, and-- and if he could find someone to match him, maybe, someone like Relena or any of her wealthy coterie who were always looking for charity with big names to flock to. And it needn't just be once. It could roll itself over into a transformation of all kinds of private spaces, opening up all those old estates so long removed from the public into a whole new sphere of possibility. Gathering places for the people, places for ideas, for new beginnings. Places for the future.

He looked up. He nodded. 'I like it.'

'I thought you would.'

He touched Trowa's jaw, not without a moment of poignant sadness for things long gone. 'You missed the same spot shaving. You always do.'

'You're not around to remind me anymore.' Trowa caught his hand on the way down. 'Quatre-- I do-- I-- feel-- I miss you. Did you just check your watch while I was dredging my soul?'

'Oh, it's not-- of course I miss you too, I just-- we have to go to the kitchen.' The absurdity caught up with him, then, and he laughed before he could stop himself. Trowa huffed with hurt, and Quatre stood up on his toes to kiss it away. It was to their credit, he thought, both of them, that the kiss felt nothing more than fond.

Trowa cupped his elbows, and then let him go. 'The kitchen?'

'I'm baking.'

'Are you trying to poison us in revenge?'

'I've spent most of my life watching Cook in the kitchen, you know. I know almost as many tricks for baking as she does.' He pulled Trowa by the sleeve, and Trowa followed him back to the stairs. 'Come on. I'll need help with the icing.'

'Icing? What are you working on?'

'It's a surprise for Wufei. And a change of topic. And maybe a little turning over a new leaf, too.'

'That's a lot for one afternoon of baking.' Trowa fell into step with him, bumping him in the shoulder. 'If we're gone too long the others will think we're fighting.'

'Then they won't interrupt, will they. Unless Duo thinks he has to rescue you.'

'Duo thinks I deserve it.'

'He'll be good for you,' Quatre said, pitiless in the face of that announcement. 'I was always too soft on you. Let you mope about and have your way. You're dreadful to argue with, you know. Duo will give as good as he gets.'

'Better. He hits, and he fights like a street thug.'

Quatre grinned at that. 'So I know where to lay my bets, eh.'

'Jerk,' Trowa said.

 

**

 

The cake came out well, if slightly lopsided. Wufei went a deep scarlet when he realised it was his turn to be the centre of attention, although it might have been equal parts temper, as soon as Duo launched into a homily on the virtues of marriage. The lecture got dirty quickly, even for Duo, until Heero put an end to it by smearing a finger of icing sugar into Duo's braid.

Quatre poured out the last of their wine, a glass full to the brim for each of them, and they raised a toast. 'To the best of friends,' he said.

'Friends,' Heero echoed.

'Friends.' Trowa met his eyes. Then met Quatre's, and then Duo's, last. Duo's smile softened just a little.

Wufei toyed with his glass. 'To friends,' he repeated quietly. 'The best of friends, yes.' He raised his head, and then his glass. 'To men who have been compatriots and companions. To men who always come when trouble is near. To men who come when time is short, and trust is dear. To men, each of us flawed, although some more than others-- this is my toast, Duo-- to flaws which offer opportunities to know each other better, to be truer than we knew we could be. To friends.'

There was more than one rueful look as they touched glasses. Quatre rubbed at the back of his neck. Heero knocked his hand away and did it for him, ruffling the rim of his hair.

'Good,' Wufei said, and drank. 'Now. Everyone hug.'

'I see marriage is going to soften you up.' Duo flopped backward into his chair. 'Hey, speaking of all this lovey-dovey stuff, you missed it earlier. We all swore a vow that we'd come back once a year to do this again. A regular reunion. And for God's sake, be bothered to show up for the whole thing next time.'

'I was on a case!'

'Do you want children?' Trowa asked suddenly.

Wufei fell silent. Quatre sat slowly, and Heero as well. Trowa propped his chin on his hand. Even Duo was watching closely, quiet now. True friends they might be, but some things were over the line, and Quatre had a dark feeling this might be one of them. For all that their lives had been easier after the war, there were still great losses behind them, old griefs that would never be recovered. WEI was nothing to the loss of a father. Of a colony, a clan, an identity, a purpose. Quatre had at least had family, to argue with, to be annoyed by, to be occasionally-- once in a while-- supported. Wufei had been alone.

Quatre put out his hand. Wufei's knee shifted under his touch, away, then toward him.

'A daughter,' Wufei said finally. 'I think-- a little girl. Maybe two little girls. I wouldn't mind a boy, but daughters would be-- special.'

'Fair warning,' Duo said, slumping back with a foot on the table edge. 'We're going to spoil the crap out of them.'

Quatre smiled involuntarily. 'He's right.'

'It's good.' Wufei pulled his dessert plate close, and cut a precise slice with his fork. 'Children should be... should be well-loved.'

'Well that deserves another toast.' Duo reached around Trowa's chair legs and dragged their carton of liquor close. 'Move, man. Let's see-- no-- ew-- inappropri-- here we go.' He thunked a handle of bourbon. 'I've been saving this, it's the manliest thing Hilde owns.'

'Why does she have bourbon?' Trowa asked, turning the bottle so he could read the label.

'Manhattans,' Heero said.

He got four pairs of eyes on him for that.

'Relena likes Manhattans,' he said defencively.

Quatre hid a grin behind his hand. 'Pour, already.'

'Hey, Trowa said you can walk around on your roof. Is that true?' Duo casually tossed the last few swallows of wine in Quatre's glass over the balcony's edge, and refilled it with bourbon. 'That's pretty cool.'

'It's not a bad view, actually. We could go up there now. It's a bit of a trek. The lift only goes to the fourth storey. And the stairs are sort of in that direction.' He waved vaguely to his left.

Wufei waited for Duo to fill his cup, and stood. 'Let's do it. Take a phone with you this time.'

'You know,' Quatre said, 'I don't think I will.'

Wufei was amused. He inclined his glass. With great aplomb, Quatre mimicked him. 'Here, here.'

The roof hadn't had a visitor since the tar men had been up to repair two springs previous. The garden had been significantly reduced in size as his sisters had departed for other realms, and now the plot was mostly unsown dirt, with just a single row of cabbages and another six of various vegetables. Still perfectly weeded and maintained, of course. Quatre stopped to finger a bright green stalk of a leek, crouching in the loam. Trowa paused at his back, then moved on without waiting; Quatre watched from the corner of his eyes as he met up with Duo instead, following him to the eaves to look out over the estate below. Wufei followed, but gave them privacy, climbing instead to the tip of the vaulted roof over what Quatre thought might be the old nursery. Wufei perched there, light-footed and impeccably balanced, his bourbon resting forgotten on his knee as he gazed out.

Heero sat beside Quatre on the wooden box edge of the garden. He rubbed his fingers through the dirt, plowing slow, even grooves through it. He said, 'Do you want children?'

'Oh, I don't-- I haven't thought about it.'

'You can tell me the truth.'

The truth. 'One day,' he admitted softly, and sat back himself. 'I don't exactly have the particulars worked out.'

'The particulars?'

'How, and-- who.' That was less easy to say, even with the bourbon loosening his tongue. 'A wife isn't an option.'

'In vitro,' Heero said.

Quatre couldn't read his expression. They were going to night, across the colony; already the overheads had gone dimmer, a colony's dusk. Street lamps were lighting in the town, speckling the curve of the torus with points on a grid. Without the noise of traffic and people, it was even possible to hear the river, at least from the rooftop. It could almost pass for Earth, in these moments before the glow of the solar panels would light the night, before the hum of a colony's old infrastructure would slowly take over the quiet. It had been the rhythm of Quatre's life, except for that brief few years in which he'd met these men, who had both changed everything and helped it stay the same, saved it from itself.

'I grew up thinking my father's idea of family was a petri dish in a lab,' Quatre answered honestly. 'He thought it was a cruel joke, girl after girl after girl, but he didn't believe in-- interfering more than that. If our mother had been healthy enough they wouldn't have gone that far, even. But there were thirty of us knocking around this place, and it was hard to feel wanted as an individual. It must have been so much worse for my sisters, knowing he only kept trying til he'd got a boy.'

'You're not your father. It would be different.'

'I don't know. Would it?'

Heero nodded. 'Yes,' he said simply.

'That still doesn't serve for the who.' He sipped the bourbon, and set it aside with a grimace. He'd never been much for drinking, and thought he might have reached the end of what even frivolity could stand. And he supposed he didn't need it for the courage, not anymore. He'd passed the worst of the hurt over WEI, and if it still stung, just a little, to see Trowa and Duo standing there together, then perhaps it was better to feel it and let it pass him by naturally.

'Are you going to leave with the rest of them?' he asked then.

Heero's head turned toward him. Quatre didn't look.

'Do you want me to go?' Heero replied. Without seeing his face, his voice seemed devoid of expression, just soft and level. Solemn, as Heero was always so solemn. So serious about everything.

'No,' Quatre said. 'But I don't want to ask you to stay if you never intended it. You could always... you know I'd have you back. Whenever you wanted to come.'

'For an affair.'

'If you like.' He'd never in his life had a conversation like this one. He'd let Trowa go without words, thinking it would be easier on Trowa if he just surrendered to the obvious. With Heero, the words seemed important. Acknowledgment. Setting it in stone, an agreement-- a promise. 'I would like. If you did.'

'Why not a relationship.'

'What would that be like?' It was the same question Heero had asked him before they'd slept together, only that morning. It felt both like a matter of hours and of years, too.

Now he looked at Heero. Who was gazing down at his hands, sifting a small palmful of dirt from one hand to the other, staining his fingertips, the creases of skin. Heero said, 'It would be like this.'

'This isn't really reality, though. This is-- like a coda, in music. It's like-- looking back on the past, making sense of it all, just-- finishing what's gone before. A conclusion. To something old, something-- finished.'

'What starts a new piece.'

Quatre inhaled deeply. 'An introduction.'

Heero made an indecipherable noise, and scattered his dirt back into the garden. 'I don't understand, Quatre.'

'What do you want to do now, Heero? You said you don't want to do what you did in Sanq. What do you want for yourself?'

'I can help you with whatever you do next.'

'But that would be for me. Not for you.' He took Heero's hand, gritty from the dirt, dry in his. He pressed Heero's hand between both of his, letting Heero's fingers thread through his. 'I'm sure in this, Heero. My father wanted a help-meet. I want an equal. And if I've learnt anything from you this past week, it's that you want me to be that, too.'

Heero's hand squeezed so hard it hurt. Quatre let him, squeezed back. 'Don't answer yet,' he said then. 'Think about it. We have a few days still. Or as much time after that as you need. Answer when you're certain.'

 

**

 

Given their conversation on the roof, Quatre hadn't been sure entirely what would happen when they all parted for the night. But as naturally as if they'd been doing it for years, Heero climbed the stairs with him to his bedroom.

Suite, really, although he spent little time in it. It had its own dining area, a large table he'd used mostly to hold the few papers and project notes he'd carted out of the office, and a day room, mostly overrun by potted palms, and the big master bath, of course, with its lavish gold-plated fixtures and that most inefficient, expensive expression of colonial wealth-- a real bathtub, big enough for a tall man and his mistress besides. Heero shook his head on seeing it, and Quatre laughed.

'These were Father's rooms,' he explained. 'And Grandfather's and Great-Grandfather's. And, which is of course a great family secret, Great-Great-Grand Aunt Fatimah, who dared to run the family all by herself, no husband and no man to guide her. Quite scandalous, these days.' Through the bath, the actual bedroom. He crossed marble tiles to the big bay windows. He'd never opened the curtains, this morning. He drew them wide now, to let in the night.

'How do people get started thinking things like that?' Heero paused at his mother's old vanity, the dainty twists of white iron that sat just as he'd left it, as his father had. Her opal-backed hairbrush, the antique mirror plated with real tortoise shell, her delicate blown-glass bottles of scent. Heero's fingers trailed them all without touching. 'What's so wrong with a woman in charge of anything?'

Quatre shrugged. 'Some revisionist takes over after them, and the next generation receives it as wisdom, not bitterness and jealousy. If there were anyone after me, they'd do the same. They'll be doing it at WEI, surely. They've probably already removed all mention of me from the company literature. I'm not even a mention on a website, now.'

Heero met him at the window. 'You don't sound as sad about it now.'

'I don't suppose I am.' He wound the curtain tassel over his knuckles, tugging at the silky cord. 'I think... I'm bouncing at the bottom.'

Heero kissed him, tugging at his lower lip, as his hand smoothed a path along Quatre's hip. Quatre closed his eyes. He said, 'You surprise me.'

'You do, too.' Heero put hands on his shoulders, turned him slowly, until Quatre took the hint and shuffled about-face obediently. His reward was to feel Heero pressing close to his back, wrapping wiry arms about him, locking fists over his chest. Quatre smiled despite himself. He covered Heero's arms, stroked his thumbs on the tender soft spot of Heero's inner wrist. Heero rested his chin on Quatre's shoulder. It was-- comfortable. It felt like something they'd been doing forever.

'Do you think much about the war?' he asked.

'Mm.' He felt tiny vibrations from Heero's soft answer, a rumble in his chest at Quatre's spine, the minute way his hold on Quatre tightened. 'Sometimes yes, sometimes no. I spent most of my life preparing for it.'

'Giving it up isn't easy.'

'I was glad to give it up. When it was well and truly over. But sometimes...'

'Yes,' he agreed. He touched his cheek to Heero's hair. 'Can I ask you? I've been playing “what-if” with myself.' He took Heero's slight shift closer as encouragement. 'I've been thinking about those days you and I had in Sanq. After Zero. What might have been, if things hadn't gone on the way they did. What if we had stayed there? Oz might not have engaged Sanq, or if they had they might just have moved on after, when it was secured. If there'd been no more Gundams to push the Rebellion, the cells in China and the Middle East would have been torn apart by competing agendas. Trowa was already gone-- he might have stayed at the circus forever, never regaining his memory.'

'Duo and Wufei were still active.'

'But Relena had already opened Sanq's borders. We could have called them. Brought them in.'

'And then Wufei's colony wouldn't have sheltered him.'

'And they'd still be alive, for it.'

'I wouldn't have been given Epyon by Khushrenada.' Heero was silent for a moment, and Quatre did not speak. 'I wouldn't have given Epyon to Zechs Merquise. He might not have...'

Neither of them said Libra. Quatre gazed out on his peaceful colony, and closed his eyes to it again. 'I don't suppose the what-ifs really mean anything. Zero was already in the world. Epyon perverted it more, but it didn't fundamentally change anything. Zero was the turning point.'

'Not Zero.' Heero said it quietly, but firmly, without hesitation, and Quatre remembered to breathe. 'The war had to be fought. There were a thousand decisions, and not all of them ours. Oz revived the Gundams every time the war might have ended without them. White Fang would have found another frontman if Zechs hadn't brought them Epyon. And you wouldn't have stayed in Sanq. Even if you'd known exactly what was coming. Neither of us have what it takes to give up.'

'But you don't ever wonder?'

Heero's exhale sounded like a sigh, from deep inside. His arms dropped lower, to Quatre's waist, and he rested his weight more fully on Quatre, so that he was holding them both up. 'I'd be Prince Consort Yuy,' Heero said. 'Or, more likely, Ex Prince Consort. And you'd still be there. Maybe it wouldn't really change anything at all.'

He turned. Heero straightened to let him. Trowa was the conventionally handsome one, with cheekbones that went for days and an athlete's natural grace, but there was something about Heero that had always drawn him. Maybe it had drawn Relena, too, and probably that swarm of frothy-eyed girls who'd swooned over the perfect couple at the centre of Sanq's royal drama. Quatre resigned himself to a place in their ranks. When Heero looked at you, the way he was looking at Quatre right now, you went, and you didn't stop to ask silly questions about later.

He framed Heero's face with his hands and kissed him. 'Take me to bed,' he said.

Chapter Text

'I am not the male Relena!'

'You kind of are.' Trowa aimed, and let his dagger fly. It speared the apple cradled by the chandelier, and both fell in a graceful swoop to join all the other savaged fruit on the tile below. 'You're both blond.'

'She's much blonder,' Quatre grumped. 'Stop ruining my breakfast tray. Give me that grapefruit.'

'You both like pink outfits.'

'I'm starting to get annoyed with you,' Quatre warned him. He tossed a peel at Trowa's face, and Trowa calmly brushed it off. 'On men it's called salmon, not pink.'

Trowa roped the chandelier low to their balcony over the ballroom, and leant out far over the railing to perch a large mango on the crystal teardrop strands. He hauled it high again and secured the cord. 'All right, more seriously. You're both scions of Pacifist families. You both lost fathers in the war. You're both over-educated and--'

'Filthy rich.'

'Privileged,' Trowa corrected mildly. He stepped back for extra room, balancing on the balls of his feet, the last dagger held loosely over one shoulder. 'And both of you could have been spoiled, ignorant, oblivious space-wasters. Or worse, part of Romafeller.'

'We wouldn't have been welcome in Romafeller, really,' Quatre pointed out. He buried his feet under the end cushion of his loveseat, and sectioned his grapefruit into, yes, a pink parade of crescents. 'The Dorlians were closer to the peerage than the Winners ever were, but we were neither of us ennobled, and never would have been. They only accepted her as a Peacecraft, and even that at a stretch.'

'Fine. Playing sycophant to Romafeller, hoping for invitations to all the best parties.' Trowa threw. Quatre turned his head to follow the flash of silver arcing out through the air. The mango rocked, speared dead centre, but didn't fall. Trowa made a small pleased noise.

'Good shot,' Quatre acknowledged, and ate a piece of grapefruit. 'But this winding description of yours really could apply to any million or so young people who happen to be blond and born in the 180s.'

'Why's it bother you? You could do worse than being the male Relena. Heero obviously finds its attractive in all stripes.'

'Ohh, I see.' Quatre refused to make room when Trowa decided to sit on his loveseat, so Trowa took the floor instead, a tiny smirk making a little crease beside his mouth. Quatre grudgingly tossed him the cushion, and Trowa settled it under his rump. 'We haven't had it out yet about Heero.'

'We don't have to.' The smile faded, and Trowa shrugged, but his usual mask of indifference was strained. 'It's not anything to me if you want anything with him. Or isn't that what I spent yesterday apologising for?'

'You never actually said sorry. You don't.' Trowa looked at him, and Quatre looked away. He offered a pair of grapefruit sections, peace and an apology of his own. Trowa took them. 'It's not in stone,' Quatre said then. 'We haven't got a contract with the terms.'

'Would that have saved us? A contract? You like rules.'

'And you hate them.' He sucked the juice out of the grapefruit slowly, savouring the tang. 'This is different,' he said then. 'Talking about us.'

'Does it mean we've graduated? We're adults with honours now.' Trowa bit the end off his piece, palming a seed and flicking it away to the rug. 'You are the male Relena. You care about people. You put spiritual importance on kindness and compassion. You're over-educated, and you're filthy rich, but you believe you owe it back. You think you can fix the world if you just try hard enough and long enough, and that is...'

Quatre licked his lips. His mouth was suddenly a little dry. 'What.'

'Occasionally inspirational.'

He cracked a smile. 'Occasionally.'

'The rest of the time you seem crazy. But-- I'd follow you even if you were crazy. I did. So.' Trowa finished his last bite, and wiped his fingertips on his jeans. 'Heero didn't sit around Sanq wondering where he could find a body double for what he'd just given up. He sat around Sanq thinking about who else made him feel like he could do anything if he believed in it enough.'

Quatre rested his head back on his arm, his throat tight, his chest heavy. 'Why are you saying these things.'

Trowa shrugged, but his eyes came up then, and Quatre was caught.

'I didn't participate much when we were all sitting around the circle being nice to you,' Trowa said. 'Consider this my turn. Belated.'

Quatre sat up. 'Do you have any tee shirts?'

'Tee shirts? Sure.'

'I haven't. One with a picture or a saying or something.'

'We could raid Duo's luggage.' Trowa cocked his head. 'This feels more crazy than inspirational.'

'Maybe. Probably.' He grabbed for Trowa's hand, and used the leverage to heave himself up. 'Come on. Get one for me.'

Trowa climbed up. 'You didn't thank me,' he pointed out. 'For saying nice things about you.'

'You said it was your turn.'

Trowa laughed softly. 'You're fine.'

'I will be,' Quatre agreed. 'I'm glad you're here.'

'Me, too.' Trowa poked him from behind as they descended the stairs. 'Question.'

'No.'

'What, I can't ask?'

'You can't ask what you're going to ask.'

'You don't know--'

'Yes I do. You're going to ask which of you is better in bed. And I'm not going to answer because you're not going to ask.'

He could feel Trowa grinning at his back.

 

**

 

Waking in bed with someone felt special.

It did. He was aware of the arm over his chest first, because he had a dream about drowning in cotton balls, but it was the first thing he felt when he waked, that heavy weight on his chest. He was grinning before he could even open his eyes.

Heero was sprawled all over him, and the lion's share of the bed. The duvet had fallen off to the floor, but Heero put out enough heat for a small planetary body, and Quatre was only cold in the feet. Quatre lay very still, to enjoy it for as long as it lasted. Heero's cheek rested on his shoulder, Heero's sleeping breaths ghosting his bare skin, and he wanted to remember how it felt.

But Heero was still Heero, and he didn't get away with it long. In only a pair of minutes Heero's eyes opened, and then Heero sat up, rolling his head to crack his neck, pop his knees. Quatre turned onto his stomach, pulling a pillow under his chest.

'We slept in,' Heero observed. His voice was froggy, deeper than usual. Quatre smiled into the pillow sham.

'Yes,' he said. 'Almost seven.'

Heero settled back. His fingers traced invisible lines on Quatre's back, connecting his shoulderblades, counting his vertebrae, and then dipping lower over his buttocks. 'Do you think the others will be up yet?'

'Maybe, but Trowa's the only one who knows where my suite is.' Heero was close enough and his touch adventurous enough that Quatre was in no doubt why that particular question had been asked. And it took nothing more than the thought of it to awaken him entirely. Heero's hand curved down between his legs, and Quatre buried his suddenly hot face in his pillow. 'I never knew you were like this,' he whispered. 'Can you even see straight yet?'

'Don't need to see for this.' Heero shifted over him. Blind himself, Quatre mapped each new sensation: Heero's legs settling over his, Heero's weight carefully lowered, bunched muscles in the thighs and then the chest and then lips pressed carefully to the back of his neck. 'Making the most of our time,' Heero whispered. 'Yes?'

He could only nod, his power of speech effectively robbed of him. Heero's hand in his hair was gentle, then gripped slowly, tightening to a fist as he fitted himself to Quatre's body. Quatre grabbed for him, found a knee, a hip, and dug with his fingernails, biting his lip. There was only passing pain, soreness from their night together, but it was strangely wonderful, fitting. Heero curled into him, as close to him as two people could be together.

They showered together after, languid now, scrubbing each other's backs and trading lazy kisses. They shared a toothbrush over the sink, and a hairbrush as well. He dragged the boar bristles through Heero's thick hair, smoothing it carefully, following the curve of his forehead and tucking the long ends behind his ears, and thought Heero very handsome indeed. Heero brushed him, his eyes very serious, his lips pursed, and then followed it with a careless hand, mussing him. Quatre laughed and let him.

No-one remarked on it when they emerged for breakfast together, though Duo grinned widely. Trowa silently poured two cups of tea, and Quatre murmured his thanks as he sat.

'Last day,' Duo opened, tentative now. 'Any particular plans? Is that my tee shirt?'

'Oh; yes.' Quatre plucked it. 'Do you mind?'

'Looks good on you.' Duo laughed. 'Yeah, it looks good on you. I've got a couple others I think you might like. I'll send them.'

'The question stands,' Wufei said. 'Plans? Any final steps to complete your transformative and healing weekend?'

'Only one must-do.' He sipped his tea and reached for the tray of yoghurt and granola. 'Do any of you have a camera? We really ought to commemorate it. This might be the last year we'll all be together like this.'

'What about the reunions?' Trowa asked.

'Of course, but things will change. Wufei's getting married. We'll grow up, get older. It won't be like it was this summer.'

'This is how I know we grew up different.' Duo seemed amused, but he was hiding behind his tea, and Quatre couldn't read his body language. 'Am I the only one who's paranoid about having my portrait out there?'

'Yes,' Trowa said. 'The war has been over for a long time, and Une swears she destroyed your file.'

They shared a moment of private communication. Quatre dropped his eyes. Whatever it was they were saying silently, it was personal, and none of his business. Then Trowa reached across their chairs, and took Duo's hand. Their fingers wove together and held tightly.

'Okay,' Duo said then. 'I guess I'm in. Of course I'm in. So who's got a camera?'

'You've got a house full of doo-dads, Quatre,' Wufei said. 'None of them are cameras?'

'There's a few terribly old ones, but no-one develops real film any more. I could ring my nephew at school; he's an artist and he'd know. But I thought it might be better to keep it just us. It's more special that way.'

'You're such a girl.' Duo grinned at him. 'But I agree. And I think I have a solution. I brought my laptop. Let me run and get it. Wufei, for shit's sake, you can't find anything to wear that's not a uniform or work-out clothes?'

'What's wrong with my clothes?'

'Quatre, get the man a real shirt. I'll be right back.'

'Yuy can loan me one of his.' Wufei stood abruptly. 'Now, Yuy.'

'I just sat down,' Heero protested.

'It's cold breakfast, it will still be here.' Wufei waited, a rather imperious angle to his raised chin. 'And you, Barton.'

'Why me?'

'I may need a different shirt.'

Trowa didn't quite roll his eyes, but it was audible in his deep exhale. He refilled his teacup, and stood. 'See what you started, Quat?'

'I didn't really mean we had to do it right this moment,' Quatre admitted guiltily. 'But if you are going inside, get warm coats for yourselves. We can take the picture on the lawn.'

He was left alone on the balcony as abruptly as that. So he stole Heero's tea, and sat watching the colony run itself far below.

Whatever they were all up to, they took their time about it. Quatre had time to eat and then to eat a second round-- he supposed a healthy appetite was both a sign of a well-spent morning and a progressive recovery from depression. He almost went looking for them, but if they were working on some kind of surprise project, it wouldn't do to interrupt. So he propped up his feet, bundled his jumper under his head for a pillow, and closed his eyes.

'Back.' Duo, carrying his laptop. 'You okay? Nap-time for widdle Quattie?'

'As soon as you're all gone I'm going to sleep for a month.' Quatre smiled. 'Are we all ready then?'

'Ready. The others are already in place. Were you really wedded to the lawn idea? Trowa thought maybe the fountain would be nicer. Pretty backdrop, and we can all sit on the ledge together.'

'That would be perfect.' He took the laptop, and gestured for Duo to precede him. Duo slung an arm about him instead, and they walked the hall together. 'Duo,' Quatre asked, 'are you really all right about the picture?'

'Yeah.' Duo shrugged, but he lost a little of his lightness. 'You know me. I get weird sometimes.'

'Don't we all? It's allowed.'

'It's a stupid problem. I'll get over it. I'm already over it.' They had to separate for the stairs, and Duo shoved his hands into his pockets. 'My turn to ask you something, though. You sure you really want to make a big permanent, like, statue or whatever out of this week? The execution wasn't really as awesome as the intention.'

'But it was an excellent intention. Whatever else is... whatever else is going on with us, I know that. You wanted me to feel better. And because you want that, I do.'

'I think you're being nicer than I deserve.' Duo scuffed a trainer on the carpet runner. 'You think Wufei's going to ask one of us to be his best man? Do they have best men at Chinese weddings?'

'I don't think so. I think it's largely tea ceremonies and paying respects to dead ancestors.'

'Bummer. I was going to suck up hard today.'

He knew then it was probably futile to hold onto the hurt. He reached, and pulled Duo's arm over his shoulder. 'I don't think I've properly thanked you, yet. For bringing everyone out here. You're a good friend. Best friend.'

'Yer just sayin' that to make me feel better.' Duo gave him a squeeze. 'So I can be your best man? Or Heero's best man. I guess either one would be good.'

They were alone on the floor, with the rest of them doing whatever they were doing at the fountain, so Quatre took the opportunity and asked while he had time. Duo obviously could keep a secret. He tugged Duo to a halt, and said, 'You visited Heero in Sanq, didn't you.'

'What? Sure. Four times. Well, three times. There was that assassination attempt back in 201, so we didn't so much visit each other as pack an armoury into a secret bunker while Relena said lots of embarrassing lady things. Truth serum is crazy effective.'

That almost diverted him. With an effort, he ignored it. 'What was he like? While he was in Sanq.'

'Heero?' Duo seemed to take him seriously, because he dropped flat onto the decorative chair that sat by the hall table. Quatre settled uneasily against the table itself. He lifted a portrait of one of the long-lost ancestors in a heavy silver frame. Bug-eyes and bat ears. He wiped a film of dust from the glass, and set it aside.

'I don't think he was ever particularly happy,' Duo said finally. 'If that's what you're fishing for. And as far as the sex with Relena goes—'

'I don't really need to know that part,' Quatre said hastily. 'And I'm not fishing for that, I'm fishing... I don't really know what I'm fishing for. No-- I do. Was he fulfilled, there?'

'Fulfilled?' Duo cocked his head, his eyebrows coming together in a frown. 'Is that what you two talk about when you go off without the rest of us? Fulfillment? I kind of thought you'd find better things to do to each other.'

'Even if we wanted to, I don't think we could actually mess around every second of the day.'

'You've got such an active imagination the rest of the time. But not for that?'

'Fulfillment, Duo.'

'Yeah.' Duo shrugged. 'I don't know. I'd say not especially. What's to be fulfilled about? He was a glorified body guard. You don't go from Gundam Pilot to party escort without taking a hard look at yourself. I think Relena tried to make it easier on him, include him in bigger stuff, but at the end of the day he wasn't in the room when the big decisions were being made. I'm not saying you gotta be the hot shot on town. I mean, I scrap for a living, and that's the kind of piloting you can do while you're drunk and high and stupid besides. But I like what I'm doing.'

'And Heero was just--'

'Killing time.' Duo planted his chin on his fist. 'Why you asking?'

'Curious,' he said, lamely.

'Whatever.' Duo pursed his lips. 'What's this leading to? Ohhh. I think I get it. You two aren't having just a weekend fling, are you?'

His face was already hot before Duo finished his sentence. 'I don't know,' he began stiffly. He shifted left in some abortive move to escape, and knocked over the portrait.

'For serious? Trowa said he thought you were serious about it, but I figured, well--' And then suddenly it was Duo who blushed, and coughed into his elbow.

'What?'

'Nothing.'

'Duo.'

'Well—' Duo screwed his mouth to the side, and sighed. 'I guess I kind of thought, you know, Wufei's straight, and Heero's, um, flexible, and Trowa and me, um, with our, you know, thing... so if you two were gonna do anyone... kind of had to be each other, if you wanted to get any doing done.'

'It's at least possible for us to see other people. Even for-- that.'

'Shuh,' Duo dismissed it. 'Like any one of us are gonna be fulfilled by anyone who's not on the ins.'

'So Wufei's doomed?' he demanded tartly.

'That's his punishment for liking icky girls.'

He smiled unwillingly. 'They're going to be wondering what's taking us.'

'They'll just think I got lost exploring.' But Duo did stand. He righted the picture. 'So what was the deal with the questions? What's got a bee in your bonnet?'

'Just...' He lost the momentum on spitting it out, and the tone between them didn't feel right now, derailed from his original destination. 'Just-- if he asks you for advice, about-- anything-- help him really figure it out?'

'Sure. Of course.' Duo nudged him with an elbow. 'You know I would.'

'Good. Right.'

They were all standing by the fountain, when he and Duo finally made it there. Wufei had indeed changed, into his formal uniform, though his hair was still loose and casual. Heero had changed his clothes, too, and cut a sharp figure in dark trousers and a grey pinstripe blazer. Even Trowa wore a new outfit, a very nice shirt that fit Quatre perfectly well, but cut a bit tightly on Trowa's broader shoulders. And as they'd apparently been raiding closets, Quatre was not surprised when Trowa tossed a suit coat to Duo, who donned it with a wide grin.

'I take it there's a plan afoot,' Quatre observed.

'It's called memory grooming,' Duo said, sliding his arms into the coat and tugging his braid out over the lapel. 'It's all the rage on L2. We groom all sorts of shit out of existence. Surrender. Gross economic inequity. Losing our collective virginity to OZ's--'

'Duo,' Wufei warned. 'Get the sign.'

'There's a sign?' Quatre shuffled on the gravel. 'Maybe you should explain the, um, concept. Of the picture.'

'Just one second.' Trowa flipped his hand at Heero, and Heero disappeared through the orchid grove. 'Quatre, you sit here.' He pointed to the fountain's rim. 'Duo, Wufei, you there, Heero and me here.'

'Oughtn't I to have a nice shirt as well?'

'Leave this to the artiste in the family,' Duo told him sagely. 'See, that's why it's special. You're usually the one who's all put together. So now you're all cute and scruffy and brand new shiny free from WEI, only we'll all be dressed nice because we loved the old you, too. It's like the weekend in a bottle. Old Quatre, New Quatre. Same friends. How's that for commemorating?'

'Very cute,' Trowa said flatly. 'Quat, ass to seat.'

He sat obediently. 'Can we switch around the order too, I want to get one sitting next to all of-- oh!' He grabbed at the back of his neck, suddenly wet, and twisted around. 'What-- you've found the spigots! I don't even know where they are.'

Heero had returned, wiping his hands on a greasy rag. 'In the greenhouse shed. You might to have a mechanic look at the pipes. There's a lot of corrosion.'

'They're terribly old.' Water went squirting up in fanciful arcs, dancing over the surface in figure-eights and curliques. Heero sat next to him, close enough for their legs to press together. 'Thank you,' Quatre said. 'I know it's silly, but I think I missed the bloody fountain.'

'It's the coolest thing in the house,' Duo agreed, and took his other side, wrapping an arm over his shoulder again and shoving Heero out of his way. 'And swimming in it will be even cooler now. But after the picture. Hey, we should get the rest of the booze and have ourselves a real send-off. But after the picture. Trowa, the laptop ready?'

'You're the artiste, you should be doing this.' Trowa had the laptop open atop an overturned potter, and was positioning the web camera. 'I think we're centred. Are you sure this remote will work on the camera?'

'Positions, men.' Wufei sat at Duo's right, and Trowa to Heero's left. The arrangement-- memory grooming-- did not escape Quatre, and he thought it was a good thing, even if they didn't all quite mean it, not quite yet. But if they'd all been in on it, then they'd all agreed on it together, and he was proud of them.

'Wait. Sign.' Wufei reached for it. 'Quatre, hold the sign.'

'Sign? You were certainly busy.' He flipped it to read it. '”Quatre's Getting Fired And Wufei's Getting Married And The Rest Of Us Are Fuc-- Duo, I'm not going to hold this!'

'Why do you think I wrote it?'

'I wrote it,' Trowa said. 'And you're holding it.' He faced it back toward the camera and clasped Quatre's hand over it. 'Everyone smile. Three, two, one--'

 

**

 

Trowa and Duo were the first to go, leaving in a cab not long after dinner. Wufei stayed longer, ostensibly to help clean up after their final fountain feast, but really just to chat. They made plans, all tentative, more fantasy than promise, but it felt good to do it, and for once it wasn't Quatre whose schedule made setting dates impossible. There was a kind of freedom yawning before him that both terrified and enticed. Mostly terrified. Heero seemed to know what he was feeling, and said nothing at all about leaving, but stood on the drive with him, holding his hand sweetly, while they waved Wufei's cab off into the night.

But then there was no pretending it away. It was getting on, and Heero's shuttle departure was looming near. Quatre dreaded it, could feel the weight of each lost second pressing on him.

Could feel Heero pressing on him. They went no further inside than the front hall, where Heero held him up against a column and kissed him hard enough to sting. It was a mute appeal, and it pained him to stay silent in the face of it. But he did. There had to be an ending, there had to be a definitive ending to it, or he knew he'd be weak enough to just let it go on forever this way, nothing decided, nothing new embarked upon. There were unhappy butterflies in his stomach, frustrated heat in his eyes that didn't abate when he closed them. Heero sucked on his neck and let him go with a rush of cold air.

Quatre swallowed. 'I can't believe how much I miss you. You're not even gone yet.'

He saw it on Heero's face, a protest that Heero never spoke aloud. He didn't have to be leaving. And Quatre's resolve was fading quickly. Heero didn't have to leave. They'd figure things out, together, and...

And what, he didn't know. There was no 'and'. If Heero stayed, they'd make love, they'd find something to eat, they'd make love again, and another night would turn into morning, and there wouldn't be any new goals or decisions then, either. There'd be no figuring out, not in this haze of new feelings. And that mattered. It had to matter. It would matter, when he could think beyond the fact that tomorrow morning he'd wake up alone, and Heero would be far away.

He fixed the floppy lock of inky hair that covered Heero's eye. 'Soon,' he whispered, the most he could say.

Heero nodded sharply. 'Soon.'

'Thank you. You... everything.' He couldn't stop himself from helpless touches. Heero's cheek, his jaw, the collar of his shirt. 'Thank you for finding me.'

Heero swayed toward him. They nearly kissed, but didn't. Heero sighed, a hard exhale. He ducked his head away.

The arrival of another cab was the end of it. They heard the crunch of tyres on the drive at the same time. Quatre swallowed drily. Heero grabbed for his backpack, throwing it over a shoulder.

When the door closed after Heero, he turned off the hall light, and walked inside alone.

Chapter Text

The house was quiet.

Quarte lay abed for hours, just listening to the silence. Not silence. The soft flow of air, visible only in the tremble of lace on the curtains, audible only as a sigh. The occasional creak or moan of any old building, settling a little deeper onto its foundations. And him. His breath. The rustle of the sheets.

But that was all.

When he'd been a child, the house had been alive with the chatter and noise of an overlarge family and their busy staff. Whether breakfast had arrived on a tray or been served on buffet tables in the grand family hall, it had been an hour of frantic bustle, people running on the stairs, his father bellowign for their best behaviour, thank you, Cook and her helpers shouting orders, carting platters in and our of the kitchen, mopping up spills, whisking away soiled linens. His sisters had bickered, their tutors were always bemoaning their determination to be late, and there was always an uncle or auntie to visit who wanted to talk sternly of marriages or mergers.

He'd lived in this place for twenty five of his twenty six years. He didn't love it, not exactly. But he couldn't, laying there staring up at the plaster curliqueues above his head, imagine life anywhere else. It was a great black blank in his mind. He had enough home to fit fifty and then some, but it didn't feel like a home anymore.

And he had nowhere to be. And no-one to wait for him there.

What did you do, the first day after the week that changed everything?

He still couldn't find a digital camera, but he did unearth an old video recorder. While it charged, he showered, rejected all his old shirts and suits, and found himself adopting Duo's borrowed-- stolen-- tee again, with an old woolly cardigan for warmth. He stood over his sink with his razor and lather brush, decorating his fuzzy chin with foam. When he touched the blade to his cheek, however, he stopped. He wiped away the soap and dried his face, and left it alone.

He was unaccustomed to using a camera. It was awkward to hold it and walk simultaneously, and he had a near miss when his feet forgot a little dip of three shallow steps he'd taken without incident every other day. He took it slowly after that, and started somewhere less dangerous. The library.

He pressed 'Record', and took a slow spin around the room, focussing the lense on each bay of shelves. 'This was the first room completed in the house,' he said aloud. 'Even before the bedrooms. And it was more expensive than anything else in the house. Not because of the library itself. Because of the books. My great-great-great grandfather had to contract a shuttle from Earth just for the books. He was a collector. Hoarder, maybe. He's got something about everything you could imagine. Science. Engineering. History, art, all the great classics of literature. Philosophy. And quite a good selection of romance novels, actually. Personally, I think he just liked happy endings. Love conquers all. It's beena tradition for all of us to add one book here on our graduation from school. My father donated a number of Henrik Ibsen titles. But I don't think he cared much for books. He's the one who moved his office to the fourth floor. He said it was too stuffy.' Quatre cleared his throat, fiddling with the controls as he filmed the old secretary's desk, an artefact now, slightly dusty, its pretty varnish dimmed. 'I never graduated,' he said. 'There was never time, somehow. But I love books. I think I've read almost everything in here. Especially the old atlases. When I was a child I wanted to be an adventurer. Or a sailor. Or a biologist, so I could get lost in the jungles of Africa like Livingstone. That's my alcove, there. My tutor was always chiding me for inattention, but it was just too great a temptation. I'd steal a book and go to the kitchens, imagine myself a deep-space astronaut, exploring new worlds.'

He let memory guide him, the architecture of the house. The library opened onto the Swan Study-- 'This was always the women's private suite, going back years. My grandmother had her card games here. Legendary. I don't know if my mother ever used it.' Then the outer hall, with the gallery of family portraits. 'We all had to memorise the names and dates. I even wrote a paper on Uncle Faisal. He was a diplomat with the Foreign Office. I thought it very glamourous, but he says it was just lots of dinners with boring people who don't speak the same language.' He opened doors as he found them, lifted the blinds over the windows, let daylight brighten rooms that had been empty for years. 'Billiards. I don't know who had it built, but Father thought it was crass to play a betting game. We were allowed lawn bowling. I'll show the yard, too, later. Ah, this is the old nursery. The eldest sisters used it, until there were too many of them. That's when Father added the East Wing and all the family suites. I think the staff used this as a coat room during parties. They'd hold fundraisers here. Father had so many friends in politics. Two governors campaigned out of the old ball room. Never any dancing, though, after Mother died. There used to be a closet here, with her old gowns. I think the girls took those with them. There's a portrait-- here--'

He jiggled the camera and the pullcord, tugging at a long-undisturbed knot that stubbornly refused to yield. 'Dunyazad says--' He almost dropped the camera and made a quick grab for it. He fumbled to focus it up on the painting. 'My sister Dunyazad says Mother hated the portrait, but I like it. I think she looks happy.' Almost-- there. Quatre aimed the recorder high, stepping back to capture the whole of the gold frame and its dusty velvet covers. 'I never found that dress she's wearing in the painting, or the necklace. I have the pearl ring. Well.'

'Quatre?'

He jumped, and this time the camera bounced off his shoe. 'I didn't hear you coming,' he said, embarrassed at himself. He picked up the camera, and crossed the gallery to press a quick kiss to Cook's cheek. 'You're here late.'

'I thought with your friends gone you'd want for company,' she said.

'I do,' he agreed, and kissed her cheek again for thinking of him. 'You're too kind for me.'

'What are you doing in here?' Cook looked over his shoulder, her thick grey braid swinging at her shoulder. 'What's the camera for?'

'A new project.' He caught himself recording their shoes, and turned the recorder off to save the battery. 'Would you like to hear about it? Let's have tea and talk.'

'If you like.' She took his arm when he offered it, her rough-knuckled hands curling over his elbow. 'A new project? So soon? I thought you'd rest a bit.'

'If I knew how to do that, perhaps.' Cook tried to take the turn for the back servant corridor, but Quatre ignored her tug and kept his trajectory, the short-cut through the front foyer. 'This will be better. I dislike being idle.'

'So did your father.'

The oven was still warm, and there was a new pie cooling on a rack. 'Share it with me?' he asked, opening the refrigerator. 'Do we have-- yes, cream.'

Cook seated herself on a stool, and cut slices of the pie for them. 'Use the bigger plates. Those. So what's this new project?'

'I don't have all the details yet, but I think it's a good start.' Quatre sat as well, and scooped a thick slop of cream for each plate, licking the spoon after. Cook presented him with a fork, and he speared the tip of his slice, piercing the flaky crust and spilling oozy berries to the plate. 'About the house. What to do about the house.'

Cook looked up, her fork halfway to her mouth. 'What to do about it?'

'Now it's empty. There's no real reason to maintain it, not really. It's an expense, of course, but more than that, with no-one in it and no-one wanting it, it seems time to think of the options.'

'You could always close it for the season. Visit one of your sisters. Take a trip.'

'I'd like to do all those things. But what then? I'm not going to come back here and live all alone in such a big place. So what to do with it?'

She carefully replaced her fork, and folded her hands. 'Maybe you should tell me outright, Quatre.'

Maybe. He found it wasn't quite that easy. He chewed his bite, swallowed too quickly and had to force it down. He rose to fetch a tumbler, and filled it with water from the sink. 'It's just an idea,' he said then. 'I think... I think I'd like to give the house over to something public. Maybe to have a contest. So people could contribute their best ideas, and then... then I could help.'

He couldn't read her face, not in the snatches of glances he was giving her. But her body language wasn't welcoming. 'Like a museum?' she asked slowly.

'Like an-- anything. A museum. Or a hospital, or a shelter. Any of a dozen, a hundred ideas.'

'But that would mean selling it.'

'Well, not owning it any more. I'd like to donate it. With this much space, it could be anything. And I want to set aside a fund to help pay to re-make it. Into whatever it will be. It might even suit to sell off some of the furnishings. The girls have already taken most of what they want. Whatever's left could help cover some of the costs.'

He knew then she didn't like it. She didn't condemn him, not right away, but her shoulders were tense, and her hands stayed flat on the table. He sipped his water, staring at the hanging pots.

When she finally spoke, it was both less than he expected and much, much worse. She said, 'Your father wouldn't approve.'

Quatre inhaled sharply. 'I know,' he agreed. 'But he's gone, and even if he weren't, one way or another this place would have been mine eventually. And thus mine to do with as I see fit.'

'It's not just a house you can sell or a property you can trade,' Cook said severely. 'You're a steward here. A steward of this history.'

'Whose history? It's an empty home, and an empty home isn't worth anything to anyone. I do want to be a steward, Cook, but I want to be a steward of people, not a steward of a silly old building with no-one inside it. This place can serve for good things. Isn't that more important than anything else?'

'If you don't want it to be empty, start a family.' She grabbed the pie plate and put it back on the rack, returned the cream to the refrigerator. 'What about Mister Barton?'

'Mister Barton appears to be in love with someone else. And even if he weren't, he was pretty explicit in not wanting children. I think he called them “spit and shit machines”.'

'You have obligations, Quatre Winner!'

'I believe I am fully aware of them,' he returned, keeping his voice even and his volume low. She stared at him, then shook her head. She turned her back on him. Quatre swallowed hard. 'I'm not anyone's heir, not any more. I'm not even anyone important. My only obligations are the ones I make for myself.'

'Your sisters will fight you.'

'Maybe, but the law's on my side. The house is fully in my name.'

'This is not the way you were raised.' She threw her apron across the island, and shouldered her handbag. 'I'm going to call them. They'll have their say in this.'

'If you feel you have to. I'm sorry it's upset you.'

'If you're sorry, change your mind.'

'No,' he said quietly. 'This is right. I won't be a rich man who lives alone on a hill surrounded by nothing but his own wealth and antiquated notions of nobility.'

She didn't answer him. She passed him by without meeting his eyes. He heard her heels on the stairs, climbing higher and away.

So. Not a week that had changed everything. A week that had changed just enough that there was no going backward.

At least that was his answer, then. If you couldn't go back, you put your back into going forward.

 

**

 

'Quatre, hello.' Quatre was presented with a firm-- very firm-- handshake-- and a graceful gesture to a plush leather sofa, thoughtfully not forcing them to face off over a desk, but rather a small, elegant stand with a steaming tea service. 'I apologise for making you come all the way to Earth to meet me,' Torben Weyridge added, seating himself in a spindle-backed chair. 'But it's much appreciated. It's a busy month.'

'Not at all. Thank you for fitting me in.'

'Tea? Something stronger?' Weyridge himself poured, and with a wink he lifted a crystal decanter. 'Mother always said a dram in the drink keeps a meeting cordial.'

Quatre smiled at that. 'Wise woman. Thank you.' He watched Weyridge splash whiskey into their tea, and leant in to accept his delicate porcelain cup and saucer. 'How's your father the Marquess? I haven't seen him since Relena's New Year's celebration three years ago.'

'Doing better. He had a rough bout of winter pneumonia. Every year, it seems. He's ninety-two this year. But do you know, I don't think he's accepted that yet. As far as he's concerned, he's immortal.'

'As fathers should be.' Quatre sipped. 'Give him my regards, please.'

'And could you please convey mine to her Highness, when you see her next. My father still talks about her all the time, you know. He's still sharp enough, but the war was the last time he was really deeply involved. Supporting Princess Relena's return to Sanq was the crowning achievement of a long career, as he sees it.'

'He's not the only one who thinks of the war so often.'

Weyridge drank his tea, and settled back with his cup on his knee. More solemnly, he said, 'I was sorry to hear about WEI. They're fools.'

'Just people with an eye toward their business needs-- as it is their job to be so.' It didn't hurt to say it-- much. 'I'm sure they've already assured you that your contract's sacrosanct.'

'They have, yes. But I'll confess I'm curious for your opinion on that.' Weyridge regarding him cagily. 'Will they honour our terms? I went to WEI because of our friendship, because you and I agree about the direction we want for the world. Will you tell me honestly if WEI is still right for me?'

'I believe you will be satisfied with the quality of WEI's work. If you're asking me for anything more than a personal opinion, I'm afraid I can't give it. That's as honest as I can be.'

'I suppose I appreciate your discretion.' Weyridge sighed. 'Well, I'm sorry for it. But you indicated this was more than a social call, or even more than cleaning up after WEI. How can I help you, Quatre?'

'I come bearing a proposal.' Quatre set his tea on the table, and opened his briefcase. He held out the bound dossier and its plastic sleeve with an accompanying CD. 'I'm launching a new foundation. I'm the primary investor, but I'm looking for additional funding. And more than the funding, I'm looking for a few fellow idealists. The Weyridge family were top of my list.'

'A new charity? Think tank?' Weyridge accepted the dossier. And it was a measure, Quatre was quite sure, of the long relationship between two old Pacifist lines that Weyridge actually opened it. It was presumptuous, and a little unfair, to go straight to the top rather than through the usual communications, and he began to regret that decision.

'Am I reading this correctly?' Weyridge asked him. 'You're--'

'Beginning with my own estates. The family home on L4 and my mother's townhome in Sanq. They're the highest-profile real estate in my pocket, so to speak.'

'I should say so.' Weyridge found the photographs. He turned the pages slowly. 'TransformNation.'

'The name is a little too clever, I know.'

Weyridge flashed him a smile. 'It's catchy.' He closed the dossier, but his finger held his place. 'So you're looking for a commitment of cash. Do you have a number in mind?'

Quatre had that ready, too. He extended a sheet of paper. 'Based on a range of estimates, I can cover any renovations out of non-obligated funds. But I want this to be more than a stunt. It has to be something that rolls into new properties, reaches multiple target zones. My goal is to devote seven Winner properties and four undeveloped lots as the initial phase. The second stage will be buying properties or seeking donations from others. That's where I'll need funds.'

Weyridge nodded slowly. 'And land.'

'And land, yes.'

'Do you have candidates?'

'A few family friends. When I hire staff, I'll have better scope for seeking that out. But you're my first stop.'

'I'll take that as a mark of esteem.' Quatre inclined his head, and Weyridge ducked his head with a smile again. He opened the dossier to his bookmark, but returned to the beginning. 'This is a mock-up prospectus?'

'I don't anticipate it will be easy. Nor that everyone I approach will take it seriously. But it's time for the old way of living to change. The new world is classless, Torben. And our families both believed it should be that way. In a world with no aristocracy, no entitled elite, what good does it do us to hold onto the old trappings of wealth?'

'That's a hard sell, Quatre. And I do say that as someone who agrees with you. Charity donations are one thing. Matching funds. But it's not a world without class, not yet. You're asking people to change a fundamental.'

'Yes,' Quatre said. 'Or at least to see that the change has already begun. Are we to be a part of it, or do we cling to our outmoded way of life that enshrines our privilege over progress?'

'That privilege isn't effortless or free,' Weyridge contended, an edge in his voice now. He sucked in his cheeks, gazing down at the dossier. 'And I don't see any guarantee in this contest notion of yours that our “privilege” will be transformed into something useful and fit.'

'I don't believe there are guarantees for anything. Only the certainty that I can do more, and that I'm determined to do it.' Quatre stopped Weyridge from speaking, reaching out a hand. 'Don't please feel you have to answer now. Look it over if you like or discard it; I'll understand. All I'll say is that I know it's not easy to throw any of it away. If you do consider it, please watch the video. It's not edited yet, but I want to use it for the contest launch. These old places have meaning, even if it's only to us. I want them to mean something important in the future, too.'

Weyridge let the dossier close. He held it between two palms for a long minute, then sighed. 'You'll have my answer soon. I don't know if idealism really captures this, Quatre. I think it might be too bold a step into radicalism.'

'Pacificism was a radical idea, once. All it takes to change that is time getting used to it.' Quatre rose. 'Thank you for your time, Torben. My well-wishes for your family.'

'Mine to yours.' Weyridge stood to press his hand again. 'Let's schedule lunch some day soon. We can talk at length about radicalism.'

'I'd like that.'

 

**

 

'No luck yet?'

'No-one's kicked me out.' Quatre held the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he shucked pillows and duvets, then threw himself down to the mattress. 'I suppose you could call that lucky, considering.'

'Have you considered that most rich people don't want to be less rich, even if it's to benefit poor starving French students?'

'It's a tax write-off, if the donation is substantive enough. Including property. I included that in the prospectus. Rich people do love tax write-offs.'

'Sometimes life isn't fair.' Trowa's voice was dry as ever, but the joke was light, and Quatre smiled for it.

'Did you find a new place to live?' Trowa asked him.

'Tentatively. I've rented a loft in town. Modern plumbing is rather fantastic. The showers here have terrific water pressure.'

'I can't picture it. Poor Quat, only one room to play in.'

'I didn't think I had to pretend with you. It's an adjustment. Not a bad one, though.'

The pause was chastened, but short. 'What about Cook.'

'She gave her notice anyway.' Quatre picked at his sleeping shirt, and propped his arm behind his head to trap it. 'She doesn't approve my new venture. She thinks I'm throwing away my inheritance.'

'You are.'

'Yes. And her home and her work and her history, too.' He couldn't stop fidgeting. He scratched his cheek. His beard had been patchy coming in, and it itched madly now it was full. He asked, 'How's Duo.'

'All right.' He heard music in the background on Trowa's end, ceasing abruptly. 'We're talking about... he's talking about it. Moving in together.'

'Does he know what a terrible housekeeper you are?'

'He spends a lot of time here. He cleans. And he cooks. Mostly things with steak.'

'You should get places in one of those couples' cooking lessons. Romantic.'

'You don't have to pretend to be okay with the idea.'

'I do, though. If I wasn't okay with it, we couldn't be friends.' Quatre scratched a furrow in his furry jawline, and stilled himself. 'I don't want to lose you. The rest of you.'

The silence was longer, then. He could hear Trowa breathing, so he didn't hang up. But it went on and on, quiet.

'Have you talked to Heero?'

Quatre rolled and squashed a pillow under his chest. The view from his new bay window was only a patch of L4's vista, not the glorious spread he'd had at the Winner house. But it comforted him.

'No,' he answered. 'We said we wouldn't ring each other. Not til we were ready.'

'That's dumb.'

'Is not.'

'How's it not dumb? You're the one who used to say things like don't test a new relationship.'

'I meant don't bring boyfriends to meet your family over stressful holiday reunions. This is different. We both had thinking to do. And I don't know if it is a proper relationship. If he wants that, even.'

'Do you want it?'

'Are you pretending to be okay with it?'

'No,' Trowa replied amiably. 'I want to kick him in the crotch when I see him. But we're friends. So I don't.'

'Wait.' Quatre sat up. 'You see him?'

'He was here for a while. To see Duo. And to ask me uncomfortable, intimate questions about you.'

'What?' That floored him. 'What-- intimate--'

'No. Come on, Quat. Can you even picture Heero Yuy asking your ex whether you ever like to top?'

His face heated. 'You're wretched and I hate when you tease me like that.'

'I know. But you should really let him know about that. When you do ever see him.'

'We already agreed not to talk about sex with other people.' Quatre lay back slowly. 'Was he... was he all right?'

'I guess. He was Heero.'

'Meaning?'

'He was sullen and withdrawn and he spent a lot of time on the net. He was Heero. He talks to Duo a lot. They don't really include me.'

He hoped that Duo was standing by his promise, and that his advice would be good. Duo was a good man-- when he remembered not to make a joke of everything. 'Did Heero say anything about where he was headed next?'

'I suggest, if you really want to know, that you call him.'

'Don't bully me.'

'You wouldn't let me if you didn't want me to push you. You forget-- I know you at least as well as you know me.'

'Better, maybe,' Quatre said.

'Only because you think it's impolite to pry.' There was some interruption, on Trowa's end, a male voice. Duo. Trowa said something muffled. Then, 'We're headed out.'

'Good night, then.'

'You, too. Quat-- keep up on TransformNation. It's good work.'

That touched him-- a rare compliment, offered free and openly. 'Thank you. And for the idea. It's a good one.'

'Good night, Quatre.'

 

**

 

'Mister Winner?'

'Mm.' How had he managed to film such rubbish? He should have written himself a script. Even the most curious of biographers would have had a hard time caring about such minutiae as his father's library donations.

'Excuse me, Mister Winner? I was hoping I could have a moment of your time.'

'Mm.' He blinked up, squinting against the sunlight. 'Oh. Hello.' He struggled against the papers spread over his lap, trying to get to his feet. He shook the hand that presented itself. 'I'm sorry, I was absorbed. I-- who are you?'

He got a grin of blindingly white teeth. 'Don't worry, we haven't met before. But I believe you know my older brother, Torben Weyridge.'

'Torben. Yes. I-- oh, yes. I'm sorry, you've caught me off-guard. Please, sit down. I'm sorry, I can't recall your name.'

'Lars.' Said Lars took the seat Quatre indicated. 'I do come on behalf of Torben. Well, in all honesty, on behalf of our father. From what I understand, you almost started a family feud with your new foundation, Mister Winner.'

'No,' Quatre said, dismayed. 'I never thought that would happen. I truly--'

Lars grinned at him again. 'Sorry, maybe I ought to have given you a gentler introduction to my sense of humour. “Feud” is an exaggeration. A good row, maybe. I don't think Torben ever realised what a spoilt brat he was until he got called to the carpet by your plan.'

'Torben's a generous man and I'm afraid I repaid his friendship poorly by asking him to give up what's rightfully his,' Quatre said. He pushed his laptop aside, closed the lid with a sharp click. 'And he's not the only one who's felt that way. His was the kindest reaction I've had so far.'

'Then you would've liked what Father had to say about it.' Lars motioned to the computer. 'Would you mind? I took double honours in Administration of Non-Profits and Social Change.'

'Did you.' Quatre wasn't an idiot. He knew what a set-up looked like. But he surrendered the laptop. Lars flipped it to face himself, opened the lid. 'University isn't a usual choice for someone in your position,' Quatre said.

'A younger son of a minor nobleman?' Lars played the video. He propped his chin on his fist as he watched it. 'You've got a bit of a shaky hand with the video recording, if you don't mind the observation.'

'It was a bit of a shaky day.' Quatre opened his waterbottle and poured the last few swallows into his glass. The post-lunch crowd at their café had shrunk to an elderly couple lingering over dessert and a table of students, people not much younger than Quatre or Lars. Quatre looked more like them, now. Lars Weyridge was the stand-out, in his fine coat, his cashmere scarf. The ring on his small finger was worth a year's tuition, even at double honours' rates. 'If you don't mind the question,' Quatre said, 'a row?'

'Father's quite taken with your idea.' Lars tilted the screen for a better view, nodding at something he saw. 'We'll be donating six hundred acres in Mosel, and a rather pleasant mansion in Cologne. If I might make a personal suggestion, I think the land in Mosel would make an excellent farming school. The soil there is very rich.'

Quatre breathed. He managed that much, at least, before his throat went dry. It was an effort to swallow, even with the aid of his water. 'Will you, then.'

'We will indeed. And as I believe Father will be your most enthusiastic advocate, I think you'll be hearing from quite a few selfless donors shortly.' Lars stopped playback on the video. 'I like the basic idea. It's got an appealing appearance of honesty to it, especially that bit with your mother. But it's not a genealogical project. We'll film it again, with a bit more direction, a bit less naivete. I've taken the liberty of getting a few clips of my father speaking about the house in Cologne. We'll intercut the interviews. We'll need at least two more speakers; maybe three. No-- two. Keep it simple.'

'Excuse me,' Quatre said, and reached across the table to shut the laptop. Lars regarded him with bright eyes, a smirk hovering around his mouth. 'I believe the phrase is “I”,' Quatre told him.

'Not once you hire me. Two people is “we”.'

'And am I to hire you, then? Is this a favour to your father? Or a bribe for Torben? Or are you just a bored younger son of a minor noble looking for a distraction with publicity and controversy?'

The smirk disappeared. 'No,' Lars replied soberly, and Quatre found he believed that. 'This is a man who knows that change is coming and wants to be part of it.' He waited, then, for Quatre's slow nod. 'But you'll decide for yourself,' he added, and Quatre smiled himself, at that, hiding it behind his waterglass. 'I did take the liberty of bringing my resumé, and of course references.' He took a thick folded packet from his coat. 'I may be proud, and a little presumptuous--'

'A little,' Quatre murmured.

'But I'm worth the trouble.'

'So it seems.' The references were good. Glowing, even, it didn't take more than a glance to see that. Quatre flipped the pages quickly, only glancing over the long list of accolades. Even a school transcript. Then a name caught his attention. 'Relena Peacecraft.'

'I had the good fortune to attend her summer service programme. Three years.'

'And she speaks highly of you.' A notion took him, then, and he looked keenly at Lars. 'This is dated two days past.'

'Yes.'

Quatre folded the packet again. 'May I ask who approached whom? Did you solicit her reference after you heard of the project from your father, or did Relena suggest it to you after she did?'

'I'm not sure I grasp the difference, Mister Winner.'

'Then you aren't nearly as clever as you pretend.'

Lars hesitated. That was the give-away. Quatre sighed. 'Never mind,' he said, sorry for the attack already. 'I suppose I'm grateful to both of you. But do give me your word that you're here because you want to be, not because Relena summoned you up to make me feel better about failing utterly at this project.'

Lars relaxed, incrementally. 'Two weeks in isn't failing, sir. And getting Relena Peacecraft on your side, whoever brought it to her, is no mean thing. And, if I might be so bold, getting me on your side is no mean thing either. I may be noble, but I'm intelligent, I work hard, and I think what you're doing is going to catch on. And I'll work for cheap. At least until we're on our feet.'

'That,' Quatre said ruefully, 'might be the best thing you've said yet.'

 

**

 

It wasn't Relena setting him up. He realised that, not long after Lars left him. Relena might have had a hand in it, but she had far too many urgent matters to worry about one very minor incident, even if it involved a friend. But that was the key to it. Not just a friend. A friend of a very special friend. A friend of someone she loved.

He was not at all surprised to find Heero waiting for him at his loft.

Heero rose when Quatre exited the lift. It stilled him, to his core, to see Heero standing there. He was just a sliver of dark shadow, his thick black hair, his shoulders tight under his plain linen jacket, his hands hanging free at his sides, fingers curled, ready to make fists. But it wasn't just Heero that made Quatre's stomach clench. It was the sight of the duffel at Heero's feet.

Quatre walked slowly toward him, letting himself enjoy the crawl of anticipation. Heero's face, softening just ever so slightly, the way he leant just a little forward, toward him. Two weeks ago they'd been only friends, but he thought now that friendship was a pale reflection of the deep and warm affection he felt, just seeing Heero, just feeling him near. The curl of heat in his belly was exquisite, and he savoured it, locked it into memory.

When he stood just a foot away from Heero, he offered the bouquet he held. Heero's eyes dropped to the flowers, but he took them. 'What are these for?' Heero asked.

Even his voice was perfection. Just a little soft, just a little rough. 'For you,' Quatre said. 'For whimsy. For thanks.'

'Thanks.' Heero turned them over, raised the blossoms to his nose. 'Thanks for what.'

'For asking Relena to ask Weyridge to support me. And to send his son. If I had to pay for someone with his background, I'd be living on the street.'

Heero lowered his daisies. 'You're not upset?'

'Should I be? You wanted to help.' He touched; he had to. Heero's skin was like his voice. Quatre curved his palm to Heero's neck, under the collar of his coat. 'Surely I can accept help. Once in a while.'

Heero swallowed him up in a kiss. It lingered, tender and hard by turns, and Quatre clenched his hands in Heero's shirt, held him near. Through the press of their chests he could feel Heero's heartbeat. He could hardly catch his breath when they parted.

Close enough to feel Heero swallow. 'Duo will be glad he beat that into you,' Heero murmured. 'Accepting help.'

'It's a narrow window.'

'I like the beard.'

'Do you? It suits a homeless man, I think.'

Heero kissed him again. 'Don't think.'

'No? What else should I do?'

'Unlock your door.'

He dug in his pocket for his wallet. He removed the keycard, and reached past Heero to swipe it. Heero depressed the latch. His fingers caught at Quatre's belt, and pulled him in.

It was dark inside, lit only by the street lamps outside the window. It didn't matter. They undressed each other button by button, fingertips only, touching lips to each new sliver of flesh. Heero scraped teeth against his beard, and he rubbed his cheek against the soft stretch of Heero's belly, to make him shiver. In the middle of the floor he tucked down to his knees, Heero's hands winding through his hair, and he peeked up to see Heero's head thrown back, sweat gleaming on his bare chest. Almost as soon as it was over Heero was bending to grab him by the biceps, dragging him, pushing him to the bed, and they tumbled down together, Heero's knee between his legs, Heero's back a plain of taut muscle under his nails. He rolled them, stretched Heero beneath him. He pressed Heero's wrists into the sheets.

He said, 'Where did you go. I tried to think of it, and couldn't.'

Heero turned his head to brush his lips over Quatre's knuckles. 'Itaimbezinho,' he whispered.

'Where?'

'The gorge in Brazil. Where you and Duo and Trowa destroyed your Gundams.'

That paused him. 'Why there?'

'Because you had been there. All of you. When you talked about it I could see how much it meant to you.' Quatre traced the veins in Heero's arms, the heavy curve of his shoulders, the hollow of his breastbone, the edge of his nipple. 'I wanted to see it. What made it so beautiful. What made you remember it.'

The ridge of his adam's apple. 'And did you,' Quatre asked. 'See what made it so beautiful.'

'I hiked it for three days. It's winter there. Not summer, like here.' Heero lapsed into silence, and Quatre let him, waited him out. Heero said, 'There was a waterfall. And boulders, giant boulders, and I thought at first that might be where you'd done it, so I tried to get near. I camped on a crag looking out over it. It snowed the next morning, so I turned back, but...'

'And what. What then.'

'I know what I want,' Heero said. 'I want this. But I also want that. To have memories like that. To visit a place like Itaimbezinho because I want to see it, not because I have to do something dangerous or awful or necessary there. I want to go to a place that's-- mine. Just mine. I want to see-- Earth. We almost destroyed it. But I've never seen anything but palaces and military bases and oil fields and factories. I want to see Earth. The things that make it like that gorge.'

'Places that mean something,' Quatre said.

Heero nodded once. 'Yes.'

'I think that I love you,' Quatre said. He didn't quite have enough air to get it out. 'I think that-- I love you.'

Heero rolled him, so suddenly that he didn't have the wherewithal to fight it. 'I was worried.'

'Worried? About what?'

'That you wouldn't realise it.'

Despite himself he laughed. 'Wouldn't realise I love you?'

'You're stubborn,' Heero told him.

His smack to Heero's shoulder echoed resoundingly. 'Don't you dare!'

'I read a book on the shuttle back here.' Heero settled on his elbow, his free hand stroking Quatre's hip. 'I learnt new words.'

'New words?'

'Acceso.'

It took him a second to catch on. It was a musical term. 'To ignite,' he said. What had he told Heero, that night on the roof when they'd talked of their plans? Clever of Heero. 'I take it we're not in a coda anymore. Is this a new piece?'

'A due.'

Quatre wet his lips. 'Together. A duet.'

'Amoroso.'

'Loving.'

'Appassionato.'

'Heero.'

'Col legno.' Heero touched him, caressed him, and Quatre bit his lip. 'With the wood.' He nipped at the smile Quatre tried to hide. 'Con brio. With vigour.'

He shut Heero up with his own lips. 'Devoto,' he whispered. 'Intimo. Immer.'

'I don't know that one.'

'Always,' Quatre said.